


Alphas of Omega

by MizDirected, MosaicCreme



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Science Fiction, a little bit gross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 122,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizDirected/pseuds/MizDirected, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MosaicCreme/pseuds/MosaicCreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>14 months after Shepard dies over Alchera, betrayal destroys the Lazarus project. On Omega, still heinously wounded, its subject eeks out a living in an old eezo mine. Reeling from the loss of his best friend, Garrus takes to the slums of Omega fighting to make the galaxy a better place before it's too late. Until the day their two paths meet. </p><p>Co-written with MosaicCreme </p><p>AU/CD Lang</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Vorcha Guts and Varren Cheese Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> This project is being written by both MosaicCreme and myself. I'll be writing Shepard's POV, while she'll be bringing Garrus's POV to life. It should be a hoot. I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, what's the best chance of finding the richest mercs around, old friend?" she asked the drone. After less than a minute, her omnitool sparked to life, showing a scan of the station. She tapped on one of the locations. "This one. How many mercs here?"
> 
> The screen zoomed in, information scrolling up the side of the image. Twelve mercs, all private hires working for that rich bastard from Beckenstein. If she didn't get killed, that should cover everything she needed and a nice lunch. "Excellent job, buddy. They might as well be gift-wrapped. Plot me the best path, please."
> 
> Warning for grossness, decay and death. It's Omega.

Chapter One: Vorcha Guts and Varren Cheese Pizza

Written by MizDirected

The darkness cradled her, providing succor and safety. She plucked a tiny tomato from the bowl resting on her stomach. Holding it to her nose, she breathed it in, it's singular scent drowning out Omega's vague background stink. Closing her eyes even though she couldn't have seen her hands in front of her face, she popped it into her mouth, moaning softly as she bit down. The flavour exploded through her mouth, sweet and savoury. Saliva washed over her tongue, and for a full five seconds life flowed in with it.

A long sigh spooled out, drifting up to echo amidst the jagged, mined out rock as the flavour faded. She needed to pick up new gold halide lights today … before her little garden died in that black. Lying there, unwilling to abandon the warm softness of her bed, she calculated the cost of so many bulbs. Shit, she'd need to find a whole squad—Blue Suns or one of the rich, private merc groups—to afford them.

She stretched, arms and legs reaching out through the darkness, her entire body vibrating as muscle fibres extended, sweetness mixed with sour, much like the tomato. And then just sour as the wounds carved into her flesh opened. Tenuous scabs tore along barely-healed seams, white-hot magma seeping through. A thin, agonized mewl bullied its way between her lips.

Fucking hell. Why did she have to move? If she could just stay still ….

Even as she collapsed back into herself, she reached for the small case at the head of her cot. The syringe and bottle settled, cool and comforting, into her grip, shaking hands managing to transfer the contents of one to the other even in the dark.

The needle slid through her skin like butter, the burning sting of the drug turning to ice as it spread along her bloodstream. Sweet relief. She shook the bottle. It felt light.

"Droney, light, please." The small space filled with bright, blue-white light as her drone winked into existence. "Thanks, buddy." Her heart sank as she held up the bottle, the clear liquid diminished to a few drops rolling around the bottom. Had it been three days already? The pain roared in defiance of the medication: a threat rather than reality. Damn. She'd have to find even more funds and make her way down into Gozu District, a hell of a long trip through the vents and waste tunnels.

"Better get started, then, huh?" She threw aside her ragged blankets to sit up, her forgotten bowl tumbling off to the side. At least she'd finished the tomatoes before dumping it. A glance across the small chamber she used as her bedroom pulled a smile onto her face. Her stolen armour gleamed a brilliant blue. She'd repainted the Blue Sun logo to resemble a hard-boiled egg, a small act of defiance that gained her a great many dirty looks, but that also branded her crazy enough to leave well enough alone.

"So, what's the best chance of finding the richest mercs around, old friend?" she asked the drone. After less than a minute, her omnitool sparked to life, showing a scan of the station. She tapped on one of the locations. "This one. How many mercs here?"

The screen zoomed in, information scrolling up the side of the image. Twelve mercs, all private hires working for that rich bastard from Beckenstein. If she didn't get killed, that should cover everything she needed and a nice lunch. "Excellent job, buddy. They might as well be gift-wrapped. Plot me the best path, please."

She closed her eyes and stretched again, testing out her pain level before getting up. Tolerable, but without a top-up dose for later, she'd have to move her ass. She dressed quickly, uncoordinated fingers fumbling over the seals on the armour. Her brain had issues telling her body what to do despite remembering how to do everything with great clarity. Her all but missing fingertips didn't help, but eventually, she wrestled all the pieces into place.

Cocking a hip, she took a few seconds to look over her enviable collection of weaponry, pausing at the M920 Cain at the end. She'd taken that off the Blood Pack then tracked down the dealer, because whoever sold a Cain to the Blood Pack deserved to hang from the rafters, strung up by their own entrails as a warning. She swallowed a vague shadow of guilt as the _torin's_ pleas for mercy rang through her memory, then shook it away. Letting the past interfere with the present would just get her killed.

"No Cain for today, though," she said, glancing at Droney as she bulwarked her shoulders and pulled herself back in line. "Today, I need precision, not a melted slag heap." She picked up a Mattock in one hand and a Harrier in the other. After weighing them for a second, she put the Harrier back. Auto fire just wasn't her style. She should probably sell it, but it was pretty. Instead, she lifted a Viper off the rack. Twelve mercs meant finding a good sniping position. She put the Mattock back and settled the Viper between her shoulder blades. She finished the loadout with a Carnifex she'd taken off a dead vorcha; the long, curved blade of a turian Talon; and a few flashbangs. "Just in case, you know."

She sucked in a long breath, even that action sending a spike of pain down through her body. Apparently the inside of her was as badly damaged as the outside. She didn't really know, not being able to assess those wounds. Shoving it aside, she concentrated on the work. "How much loot from twelve mercs and their base?" she asked, casting a glance over at Droney. "Two duffels?" She frowned, then picked up three, shoving two inside the other one. "Just in case." Tucking three small antigrav units into her belt pouch, she patted herself down, mentally running through her mission preparedness checklist.

If one wanted to survive longer than three minutes on Omega, one went out loaded for bear and krogan and quite possibly someone's pet thresher maw. Of course, the one of those she'd found in the trash compactor, she'd taken home to keep pyjaks out of her garden. At two-thirds of a metre long and three centimetres in diameter, Harold had quite a ways to go before she needed to find him a new home.

She opened her drone interface to deactivate Droney. "Okay buddy, time for you to go incognito, just keep the map where I can see it." When his merry light vanished, she cursed and groped for a flashlight. "Why do I never grab the flashlight first?"

Her hand closed around the smooth, metal cylinder, her thumb complaining as it toggled the switch. Once a thick beam of light preceded her across the uneven rock, she set out, following the map to a small warehouse she'd raided more than once before. The rich bastard was sneaky and smart, and hired near-clones of himself to command his grunts. Once she hit smoother, semi-lit ground, she switched off her flashlight and turned her attention to figuring out what form the trap would take that time.

Last time, they'd set up shot detectors and come at her with snipers of their own as soon as she took the first one out. Only quick feet and some good luck with pedestrian traffic at the docks got her out of immediate danger, and she'd been able to pick them off during the pursuit. She paused and sniffed the air, barely suppressing her gag reflex at the thick ribbon of rotting carcass that wafted through the air.

"Waft?" She pulled her 'carrion kerchief' from her belt pouch and tied it over her nose and mouth. "More like ooze. Lord have mercy, that's rank." The mint and cloves she stored with the kerchief helped cut down the urge to puke that formed such a large part of the Omega experience.

The smell turned out to be a vorcha. She crouched over the corpse, looking for the cause of death. A tightly clustered grouping of sniper rounds told her it was a sanctioned kill.

"Gavorn's work," she whispered. "Five or six days old." She gagged, choking back her breakfast as the smell overwhelmed her kerchief, tying her stomach into spasming knots. Bloat had split the body open like a dropped watermelon. "And disgusting." Still, she stayed there, crouched next to the suppurating stench, her palm worrying the hilt of her Talon, the beginning of a plan taking shape.

"This won't be big on pretty or socially acceptable, my juicy friend," she groaned as she drew her knife from its sheath. Looking around, she spotted a mostly intact bucket. "Oh sure, you just had to go and make this stupid plan workable. Thanks universe." She gagged, just managing to swallow in time. "And, it's going to require a helmet."

A half hour later, she straightened from hanging over the bucket's payload of the juiciest parts of the corpse and more than a little vomit. "Good lord, this plan had better work." She wiped her chin on her kerchief for the last time, then threw it into a pile of trash and put on her helmet. Cool, clean air rushed in, and she took long draughts. Sheer bliss.

Once she'd recovered enough that her stomach muscles unlocked, she grabbed the bucket's handle. "Okay, come along my dearly departed accomplice. There's bullet work to be done."

Thirty minutes later, she set the bucket down on the warehouse roof and crouched to peer down through the skylight. She ran a detailed scan, turning down the glare on her omnitool. Two guards on the exterior, another two sitting at a table in the back room on the right, eight more sleeping in the one to the left. Twelve to one … well, one and a smelly … and a rocket drone with VI upgrades.

More than doable. Okay. Timing would prove essential. Picking up the bucket, she crept down the roof, keeping an eye on the main floor below through the skylight. When she reached the far end, she eased open the skylight and leaned through, drizzling some of the vorcha guts onto the floor inside the door. "Just a little taste," she whispered, then stood, hurrying back the way she came.

At the opposite end of the main room, she opened another skylight, this time, laying down on her belly so that she could wriggle all the way through. Grabbing the bucket, she gave it a good heave, splashing the entire floor in front of the back rooms in the effluvia. Wriggling backwards, she shrugged her Viper into her hands and set up. From that vantage point, she could pick them off as they—

The door at the far end opened, the guards taking two steps before their hands flew up to cover their faces. Two bullets, dead center through their brows, dropped them where they stood.

She swung the rifle around, using the moment to pop in a new heat sink. Just in time. Both back doors burst open at the sound of gunshots, men and women … all human … running out. She took down one before they hit the slick of guts and puke. Launching Droney into their midst as they slipped and skated through the mess, she lined up another shot.

Clockwork. After all the madness she'd seen in her days, taking out twelve, surprised mercs amounted to just that. Clockwork.

"Free headshots for everyone," she said. Chuckling a little to herself, she put a round through the back of a mercs head while he doubled over, throwing up his last meal. "Consider that a mercy killing."

Her next shot hit a woman in the shoulder, the merc letting out a faint "oof" as the round spun her to face the next shot as it went through her throat.

"Damn, sloppy as hell," she muttered to herself. A third bullet finally put the woman out of her misery. "Sorry about that, sweetie."

The rest went down, head shots each and every one, before they could do much more than regain their balance and pull their weapons. She counted the bodies to be sure, then scanned the building—she hadn't lived that long by being less than impeccably cautious—then policed her heat sinks. She dropped them into a heat proof bag, then scanned the area with a critical eye, looking for any identifying marks … bootprints in the dust … anything. Once sure she hadn't left any traces behind, she climbed down, entering through the open front doors.

Thankful for her helmet, she moved quickly and carefully through the mess, scooping up everything of value except for their armour. As much as really decent armour might bring, she couldn't carry that much. She paused, looking at three brand new, sleek air cars. Of course … if she could get the starter codes, she could fly out of there in style.

"Nope." She moved on, grabbing guns and credit chits and omnitools. "Intact cars are too easy to trace. Greedy gets caught." That and she didn't have anywhere in the old mine to park a car. Best to stay small, slide beneath everyone's radar. Duffels full, she attached the antigrav generators, then shouldered them and headed out.

A damn good day's haul. She set her duffels down outside the door, then turned back, a wide, wicked grin settling over her face as she contemplated how best to make her statement. After all, she wasn't just some cleaning service. No, Omega had Archangel for that. She was an artist.

Droney guided her through the vents and service tunnels to the markets on the way to Gozu District, and the only decent doctor on the station. Well, the only one she trusted not to sell her out to the first Cerberus or Alliance or any merc bastard who came along with a couple of creds.

She liked the markets, well, the sleazier ones anyway. She fit right in down there, blending with the rest of the filthy, ranting masses.

"Hey, kid," she called, flopping against the quarian scrap seller's kiosk. "Could you use three skycars?"

The quarian jumped and let out a soft gasp as he spun to face her. After a second, he flinched away. "Keelah, L'oeuf! I can smell you through my suit's filtration system."

She sniffed under her arms the best she could wearing a helmet, a crooked sneer of combined pleasure and snarkiness tugging at her lips. "What? Is my deodorant not working?" She sniffed again, then shrugged. "Maybe it's a medical condition?" She grinned at him through her helmet's faceplate. "So, what about it, kid? I took down a merc base this morning, and there were three cars just sitting there, pretty as you please. If you're going to claim em, you'd better get to it."

The quarian hesitated, so she pushed off the counter, impatient, the nerves along her legs twitching, insisting she keep moving. "Let me know if you're going to take them. If not, I'll donate em to charity."

"How would I—" he muttered, following her to the main corridor. "Where would I …?"

She waved, one hand flung above her head, cutting him off. She didn't have the time or patience for waffling and worrying about legal title. "Not my problem, kid. Have a good day. Regular finders fee to my account if you take 'em." She spun to walk backwards, levelling a mildly threatening finger at him. "And I'll know if you cheat me, Kenn, and I'll come for you."

He sputtered a string of half-articulated sentences, his posture a combination of indignant and terrified that made her laugh. She knew it never even occurred to him to try cheating her; he'd consider it bad manners. "Just kidding, kid. Breathe. You're fine."

Marsh must have heard her coming, because his counter was folded back, the door to the back room open. She headed straight in, not wanting to tempt fate by parading her haul through the crowd.

"By the holy fucking pillars, L'oeuf," he gasped, all four eyes springing wide even as he clapped a hand over his mouth. "You humans always stink, but this is a new level of _fragdul_. What have you been rolling in?"

She dropped the duffels. "I've come to restock your store, Marsh, don't talk shit about humans." She shrugged. "And … I think I'm being personally insulted here as well … are you saying you don't like my new perfume? It's L'eau de Six-Day-Dead-Vorcha." A harsh, humourless laugh greeted his gagging grimace as he flinched away. "Oh, don't worry, it's Gavorn's handiwork, not mine." She kicked the first duffel toward him, the way he jumped pulling a cruel smile onto her face. " _This_ is my handiwork. So? Let's get this done."

A half hour later she walked out the door, pockets filled with creds and one duffel filled with gold halide grow lights. She'd even made enough to buy extras, ensuring that her little garden would have all the fake sun it needed. "Nice doing business with you, Marsh. And don't worry, I'm fairly sure dead vorcha washes out."

Taking back to the service tunnels, she made her way to Gozu District, a part of the station she generally avoided like the plague. Too many humans lived there, and amongst humans, even her ruined face proved far too recognizable.

She dropped down out of the ventilation system into Dr. Mordin Solus's back room, startling his assistant.

"Oh, L'oeuf," Daniel said, clapping a hand over his heart, "you scared me." She just nodded and waited, not moving until his hand slapped over his nose and mouth. He gagged. "What the …?"

"Tell Dr. Solus I'm using the decon shower," she said, patting his shoulder as she passed by, heading straight to a small room off to one side.

She set the shower for its highest heat and detergent settings and stepped inside with her armour on. Only one way to skin a cat … or well, get rid of L'eau de dead vorcha. Ten minutes later, she stepped out and removed her helmet, taking a couple of test sniffs. Much better. Downright livable, in fact.

Stripping off her armour, she piled it along a wall to dry, then returned to the shower, setting it to a far less incendiary heat. Still, nothing hurt quite like a hot shower, all of her open wounds screaming at once, their varying pitches forming a symphony of agony that roared: lava and acid pouring down the length of her body.

Sagging against the wall, she sucked in long, ragged, moaning breaths, offering prayers that alternately begged for mercy and cursed the powers that be. The water turned off, a soft yelp escaping as she jumped and spun to face the door as it opened.

"Enough of that. Already clean. Further pain unnecessary," the salarian standing at the threshold said, his words quick and clipped. "Put on gown and robe." He hung the garments on the door and set slippers just below them. "Come to other room when dressed." With that, he turned away, closing the door behind him.

Doing as she was told, she dressed in the offered garments and slung her belt pouch over her shoulder. She padded across the hall, trading glares with the LOKI mechs standing there as she passed through to the second room. Like all of Omega, the doctor's clinic looked like a war zone during an uneasy detente. At least he kept it scrubbed meticulously clean .. even if it didn't look it.

"On the table," he said from the far side of the room without turning from his computer. "Lie back. Need to run scans."

She hopped up onto the sheet, but stayed sitting. "Look, Doc, nothing has changed in three days. I just need some meds."

Turning away from the computer, he approached, activating his omnitool. "Lie back, please."

She met his stare and narrowed her eyes, willing to wait him out. He might be stubborn, but he'd also met his match. Only one doctor had ever been able to keep her in bed, and that was mostly due to the generous use of sedatives.

"No scans, no meds," the doc said and crossed his arms. "Omega filthy, riddled with disease. Infection probable."

For a moment, she considered going without just to prove a point. He'd be sorry when she died up in her dark, lonely hole in the asteroid. She moved to jump down, but then her entire body let out a loud, wailing guffaw. 'Right' it said, laughing—and by laughing, she meant shrieking in agony—'you won't even make it home without drugs.'

She laid down and let him get to work.

"There. Not so difficult," Dr. Solus said twenty minutes later, handing her a small crate that contained all her meds, salves, and sealants. "Enough for three days. Return then." He gave her a shot of pain killers and patted her shoulder, an absent sort of comfort.

She sat up and took the crate then set it next to her, trading it for her belt pouch. She glanced up even as she dove into one of the pockets for creds to pay him. "Is anything healing?"

He waggled his head. "Healing slowly. Need cloned skin and tissue grafts … surgery to repair several organs."

She shook her head, her entire body freezing … even her heart stopping for several seconds before it jumped straight to FTL. She swallowed, jagged handfuls of fear dragging down her suddenly parched throat. "Can't be down that long where they can find me." She thrust a generous handful of creds at him, then hopped down. She needed to get dressed ... to put a nice, thick layer of armour between her and the galaxy.

"Would not betray you," he said, his tone caught halfway between indignant and comforting. He returned to his computer, carelessly dumping the creds on his desk.

"No, you wouldn't," she agreed, "but all it takes is one wrong word in the wrong ear … ." She gathered up her things. "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate your help."

"Consider what I said. A few days of trust could alleviate cycles of suffering."

She stared at his back for a moment before nodding. "Sure, I'll think about it." She turned, heading back to the shower and her gear.

"Won't," he said, sighing. "Stubborn, paranoid."

That time, she let him have the last word. He was right, after all. She geared up and then returned to the ventilation system. About halfway back to her little cave inside the asteroid, she caught a scent far more pleasant than L'eau de dead vorcha. Her stomach let out a loud, almost feral howl as it curled in on itself, reminding her that she'd eaten only a handful of tomatoes early that morning, then proceeded to toss them all over the vorcha corpse.

Slipping around to the back room of her favourite restaurant, she exited the maintenance duct and made her way out the back, circling the exterior to stand at the counter. "Good morning, Zullius." She gave the turian a bright grin.

"It's afternoon on Omega, L'oeuf," the torin retorted, casting a quick glance at her. "Not sure what time it is in your universe, though, so sure ... good morning." He passed an order of Batarian Red Gill down the counter before sparing her another glimmer of attention. "Don't have any potatoes to make your pooteen crap until you bring me another sack."

"That's poutine." She shrugged. "But it's okay. It was the smell of pizza that pulled me in."

"The usual?" he asked, already smoothing sauce onto a crust. "And, by the way, I know you come out into the back room, why not just walk through?"

"Yeah, the usual." She lifted a hip onto one of the stools and leaned on the counter, her chin resting in her hands as she watched him work. "Appearances. You can't have crazy people creeping out of your food stores."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Like it matters on Omega."

She watched him pile on pineapple. "Did you save the tops of those, and do what I said?"

"Yeah, they're rooting already." He glanced back. "Do you want to take them with you?"

"Sure, just crate up the pots. I'll have to haul them back in a duffel." She relaxed into the stool. Zullius was the first person she'd met on the station when she arrived four months earlier. She'd asked him for poutine, discovering the tragic news of Omega's potato shortage in the process. That day she'd taken out five Blue Suns and ordered seedling potatoes over the extranet, along with a wide variety of other seeds and seedlings. Now she supplied him with potatoes, onions, carrots and pineapple.

Twenty minutes later, she hauled her duffels and her varren cheese, vat pepperoni, onion, and pineapple pizza into the ducts and continued on her way.

The sound of gunfire interrupted her quick journey home. She paused at a junction in the vents, glancing toward the racket, then to her pizza, still clinging to a little warmth, then to home, and back.

Chaos drifted down the vent, teasing her curiosity, particularly when she heard a batarian voice shout something about Archangel. She sighed and set down her duffels, keeping the pizza with her. Pyjaks wouldn't bother with lights but they'd run off with her pizza in under ten seconds.

The trail of battle led to a back alley. She peered out through a grate, congratulating herself on an excellent vantage point.

Archangel's people had set up a cross-fire gauntlet of doom at the end of the blind alley. Only one straggler remained, holed up behind a wall of crates, cleverly conserving his shots while Archangel and two or three others tried to flank him. She set down the pizza box, and took out a slice, munching as she watched.

"Best entertainment I've had in awhile," she muttered, sitting cross-legged and leaning into the slats. A huge turian in blue armour crept along a second floor balcony, a Mantis held easily in his talons. "Oh, yep, he's got the drop on you, merc loser. If he's any sort of shot with that thing, it's game over." She gulped down the slice of pizza, her belly complaining at the speed, but not at finally being full.

The turian reached the end of the balcony, taking cover and setting up his shot with a care that impressed her. He didn't have a clear shot, but a good hand's width of the merc's helmet stuck up. More than enough of a target for a decent marksman.

A crack like thunder roared across the alley, lifting the top of the merc's helmet and head like a machete cracking open a coconut. She hooted a wordless congratulations, then clapped a hand over her mouth, listening for any sign she'd been heard. Nothing.

"Sweet shot, boss," a turian said, practically crowing with a combination of battle high and adrenaline giddiness.

The large turian in blue— _Archangel, I presume_ —straightened slowly, pushing himself up off the railing. He looked as if he was in pain, or maybe Omega had just aged him prematurely. She frowned at that. Prematurely? What if he was just old? What made her think him young, but weathered?

"Thanks," Archangel said, "but you don't know where I was aiming."

Her breath stuck in her chest. The voice.

She scrambled up onto her feet and pushed the vent cover open, needing to get a better look. That voice, and the joke. She'd made that joke a hundred times ….

"Take off your helmet," she whispered, her voice a thin, desperate hiss. A thousand needles stabbed up and down her spine before nesting at the base of her skull, jabbing her until it was all she could do to clamp her teeth down on a scream. She knew that voice, but …. It didn't belong here … it didn't belong to the filth and stink. It belonged to the gleaming streets and sparkling lakes of the Citadel. It belonged to hope … her hope, out there, fighting the good fight, becoming—

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, halting the frantic diatribe before it spun out of control.

More than anything, that voice belonged to her dreams; to the long, dark hours and the quiet when she allowed herself to remember. It lived deep inside the box of secrets that she pulled out now and again, thumbing through the fragments of memory like old photos.

"I'm starving." The grumble pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. A massive block of human swaggered out of cover at the end of the alley. "Can we go back to base now? If I don't eat, I'm going to faint, and the rest of you will have to carry me home."

Archangel swept his helmet from his head, retracting it until he could hang it from his belt. "Yeah, finish cleaning up the site and call for pick up. They had a hell of a shipment ready to go out." He turned to face her hiding place, looking almost right at her without seeing her. Cobalt _familia notas_ stood out against steel-coloured face plates. "I'm glad we got to them when we did. Another two days, this crap would have been all over Citadel space."

"Garrus!" Her hands clapped against her mouth as she stared down, her heart thundering in her chest, her legs suddenly so weak that they threatened to dump her on her ass. It was him.

Panic took hold, and for a moment she didn't know whether to run toward him or away.

"Seriously, boss. I'm dying here," the brick groaned, staggering dramatically toward a stack of crates.

"Butler, get your lazy ass over here and start going through pockets," the second turian called. "Maybe you'll find a candy bar."

She opened the pizza box, sandwiched two slices together, then dropped the box out the vent. Twisting her wrist, she added the perfect spin so that it sailed through the air and landed between the two vigilantes.

"What the fuck?" The unknown turian spun to look up at her. When he caught sight of the open grate, he started climbing.

"It's a miracle! Pizza from heaven!" the brick shouted, scooping it up. He had half a piece wolfed down before Archangel snatched the box away.

"It could be poisoned, Butler, you idiot." Always the cop, suspicious and wary. It warmed some of the wan chill in her joints to see he hadn't changed all that much. He opened the box and peered inside. "Onions, pepperoni, pineapple, and cheese? Shepard used to …." She held her breath as he ground to a halt, letting it out only when he clamped his jaw shut. After sniffing at the pizza, he passed it back. "It smells all right—for levo crap—but if you're barfing in an hour, don't blame me."

She stared for another second, but then the second turian clambered up onto the level below her. Too close. She sprinted back to the junction, snatched up her duffels and ran, not pausing for breath until she entered the mines. No one could follow her through that maze. Not even Aria.

Garrus. She shook her head, a heavy bolus of sorrow and confusion pressing up into her throat. Panic swirled through her head, confused and dizzy. What was he doing there? He was supposed to be training to be a Spectre. That was the plan.

Staggering into her den, she flopped down on her cot and took a bite of her pizza sandwich, now completely cold. The plan. A long sigh spooled out. If it hiccoughed a little here and there, well, she was … um … choking on the pizza. Yeah. Choking. Definitely not crying.

No, definitely not crying for a plan that had ended in fire a year and a half behind her.


	2. Chapter Two: Long Days and Cold Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He made his way to the center of the room, following the trails left by bodies being dragged across the floor until he found the impact cast-offs, accounting for every dead merc. Sidonis followed him, silent as Garrus worked. Another puddle of muck had him glancing up at the skylight again as the scene began to unfold in his mind. 
> 
> “Eleven head shots. In this mess? How? I mean, I could pull it off but come on, it’s me we’re talking about.” Garrus turned beneath the skylight, grinning when Sidonis chuffed. 
> 
> Unless … no, it can’t be. Shepard is dead, and she’s not coming back. This was someone else; it has to be. The galaxy is full of people. I’m sure some of them have to be just as good as Shepard.

Written by MosaicCreme

 **(Words taken from MizDirected’s Turian Dictionary)**  

 **Buratrum** _\--_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association.  Equivalent of hell. 

 **Kresat frasacti(s)** \-- Literal: herd spooker(s).  Vernacular: crazy bastards 

 **Netichik:**  Insect analogues native to Palven that have been exported to many colony worlds. 

 **Spurin** \-- (plural: spurin) Equivalent of bastard, but in the sense of an unpleasant and despicable person rather than the sense of being of illegitimate birth.

 

\-----

“What do you think, boss?” Butler’s voice dragged Garrus back to the present, chasing away thoughts of a woman long dead. 

“What?” The _torin’s_ mandibles fluttered as he turned to take in his friend, still clutching the near empty box of pizza to his chest. 

Garrus eyed the box suspiciously. Who the hell hid in vents eating pizza while bullets were flying on the other side? Sidonis checked the vent but found it empty except for the faint scent of human and pizza. Could it have been someone Butler knew? They threw it out there like an offering after he complained about being hungry. If not for the pizza being fresh, Garrus would have thought it was someone hiding from the mercs, or maybe even someone planning on ambushing the mercs, hoping to claim the cargo for themselves. 

He didn’t smell anything unusual—aside from the pizza itself, but he still waited to see if Butler keeled over from eating the whole thing himself. Maybe it wasn’t an offering, but a distraction meant to keep his men busied while they got away. Whoever, they’d gotten a good look at the face of Archangel. Unease crept along his spine like a colony of _netichik_ ready to devour him whole. He didn’t exactly go out of his way to hide his identity, but he didn’t wave a flag for all of Omega to see, either. Still, he counted the moniker the people of Omega bestowed upon him as a blessing. Since most people he worried about never lived long enough to learn his name or see his face, he could live in obscurity. 

Through hauling off dead mercs and loading up crates of red sand, Butler kept a slice of that foul smelling levo crap stuffed in his mouth. Garrus never did understand how Shepard ate half the stuff she did. Granted most human food smelled and looked utterly unappealing to him, but that pizza with _those_ toppings … even Ashley snubbed her nose at it when Shepard tried to convince her to try a slice. Kaidan tried it, of course, but Kaidan would have done anything Shepard asked. His pursuit of Shepard had been almost painful to watch. Everyone on the Normandy saw it, but Shepard’s surprise seemed genuine to Garrus when he pointed it out to her. She waved it off as nothing more than a crush and a friendly personality. At the time, he questioned his sanity when that little flick of her wrist made him insanely happy. 

 _Spirits, Garrus. It’s a pizza. That’s it, just a pizza. It has nothing to do with Shepard. Let it go, and let the woman rest in peace. She deserves that much at least._  

It never ceased to amaze Garrus just how much food Butler could shove down his gullet. He figured the human had to be hiding it somewhere, maybe an extra stomach or something. Greasy sauce smeared his face and hands, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Garrus waved his fingers at the salarian behind him, and Mierin handed him a handkerchief. 

Garrus shoved the cloth at Butler, distaste tugging at his mandibles. “And you wonder why your wife keeps chasing you out of the house.” 

Butler grinned, smacking a wad of pizza around loudly in his open mouth before snatching the handkerchief from Garrus, running it over his face. When he finished, he offered it back to Mierin who frowned, holding a hand up in refusal. 

Butler shrugged, balling it up in his fist before taking another bite. “I said we should go to Afterlife. You know, get a few drinks; a few dances. To celebrate.” 

“You’d celebrate wiping your own ass if you could get away with it.” Weaver adjusted her ponytail as they walked, watching Butler out of the corner of her eye. 

Garrus liked the other human; daring and charismatic. She reminded him of Shepard. Everything reminded him of Shepard. Giving a sharp shake of his head, Garrus pushed the pain-filled memories away, forcing them to the recesses of his mind to be dealt with when alone. 

Ripper made a show of sniffing at the air around Butler. The former Blood Pack still hadn’t shared his real name with Garrus, but he didn’t mind. Garrus didn’t need to know his name or his past to know that the krogan would be at his six when the bullets started flying. 

“Are you sure Butler even wipes his ass?” Ripper lifted the corner of his mouth. 

Garrus cleared his throat and took in a shallow breath, letting the stink of Omega roll around on his tongue, trying to pin down the sickeningly sweet smell that tickled the back of his throat. “Spirits. Really, what is that?” 

“Aren’t you listening? It’s Butler’s ass.” Weaver smacked the back of her hand lightly against Garrus’ arm. 

He gave her a half-hearted grin as he slowed to a stop. He took long pulls of the air, his throat threatening to spasm and wretch with the stench. _Death. Rotting, stinking death._ Stepping up next to Garrus, Sidonis sniffed the air pulling in deep breaths. Garrus glanced at the smaller _torin_ , watching as Sidonis drew the same conclusions. The rest of the group came to a halt, wary eyes searching the area for whatever made their fearless leader ill at ease. 

Ripper readied his assault rifle. “We going to check it out?” 

The iris of his visor contracted as he looked around, shaking his head he turned to the group. “No. You go on to Afterlife. Get Butler his celebration. I’ll catch up to you later.” 

Garrus broke out into a jog, clawed feet pounding the metal grating sounded behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Sidonis hot on his heels. 

“Thought I told you to go on to Afterlife?” Garrus turned back to watch his footing, dodging out of the way of a volus struggling with an overflowing crate of scrap. 

“What, and let you have all the fun?” Sidonis chuckled, his shorter stride finally catching up to Garrus. 

“That smell like fun to you?” Garrus chuffed, shaking his head. 

“More fun that watching drunk idiots grope asari dancers,” Sidonis said. 

A soft snort rumbled his chest as he slowed to a brisk walk, making it easier for the other _torin_ to keep up with him. They walked in silence, following the reeking trail to an empty warehouse. Pressing his back to one side of the door, he drew his assault rifle and nodded at Sidonis to take the other side. 

With Sidonis in place, Garrus hit the door’s release. The door slid open, the overwhelming stench slapping them both in the face as it rolled out of the warehouse in thick waves. Garrus choked back the urge to empty his stomach and crept through the door, taking immediate cover behind a stack of crates. He swept his gaze over the rafters and skylights, looking for snipers before giving Sidonis the go-ahead to move in. Sidonis pushed forward, passing Garrus on the left he ducked low behind a crate. Garrus watched as Sidonis lifted his head just high enough to get a look around the room. 

“It’s clear.” Sidonis stood from cover, moving toward a row of parked cars. “No one here but these poor _spurin._ ” 

Garrus left cover, his eyes still searching the shadows as he moved closer to get a look at what Sidonis was talking about. Taking shallow breaths to combat the smell of rotting viscera, Garrus took in the scene carefully arranged on the warehouse floor. A dozen mercs surrounded a giant puddle of gore, some propped up on all fours, their heads lolling lifelessly to the side. Others laid curled in on themselves, arms cradling their abdomens as if nursing a stomach ache. Jaws pried open, little trails of the thick, stringy mess leading away from their mouths to join the rest of the entrail-riddled slop. 

“I’ve seen some twisted stuff, but this … whoever did this is one _kresat frasacti_.” Sidonis crouched down, using the barrel of his gun to nudge a dead human, turning the corpse’s head so he could get a better look. “Head shot. Clean kill.” 

Garrus stepped over the feet of a dead human, watching his footing so he didn’t slip in anything. He didn’t want any part of this on him, and he definitely didn’t want to leave his prints behind. His visor picked up no signs of life from any of the poor spurin. He moved around the scene, taking it in from different angles while fighting back the urge to empty his own stomach. Whatever—whoever the mess all over the floor it wasn’t vomit, at least not all of it, but somebody sure went to a lot of trouble to make it look like these mercs were in the middle of a communal purging. 

“They’re all head shots.” Garrus crouched down next to a woman propped up on all fours against a crate. “Except this one.” 

“Hey, aren’t they wearing the same uniforms as those mercs working for that rich human _spurin_? The one with the weird accent.” Sidonis said. 

Garrus looked a little closer at the black and silver armor with the stylized ‘H’ emblazoned on the chest. “Yeah, I think it is.” 

He made his way to the center of the room, following the trails left by bodies being dragged across the floor until he found the impact cast-offs, accounting for every dead merc. Sidonis followed him, silent as Garrus worked. Another puddle of muck had him glancing up at the skylight again as the scene began to unfold in his mind. 

“Eleven head shots. In this mess? How? I mean, I could pull it off but come on, it’s me we’re talking about.” Garrus turned beneath the skylight, grinning when Sidonis chuffed. 

 _Unless … no, it can’t be. Shepard is dead, and she’s not coming back. This was someone else; it has to be. The galaxy is full of people. I’m sure some of them have to be just as good as Shepard._  

“Where are their weapons?” Sidonis asked. 

“Taken.” Garrus pointed toward the skylight. “The shooter started here, leaving that to draw them out.” He pointed at the putrid mess at his feet before walking back to the macabre scene. “Then moved back this way to that skylight. Dumped the rest of the mess and waited. Took them out as they came, then did _this_.” He waved his hand at the display. “Took their guns but left their armor. Obviously they weren’t in a hurry, so probably someone working alone. Couldn’t carry everything.” 

“Or they just didn’t need the armor.” Sidonis shrugged. 

“Hmmm. Or they just didn’t need the armor.” Garrus headed for the open warehouse doors. 

“We done here?” Sidonis jogged to catch up to him. 

“I want to look at the roof.” Garrus looked around until he spotted the roof access. 

Sidonis shook his head. “You know you’re not in C-Sec anymore, and this isn’t the Citadel, right?” 

Garrus pulled his mandibles tight against his jaw and started to climb. “Go to Afterlife, Sidonis. I’ll catch up with you when I’m done here.” 

“I’m just saying that there’s no real point to this. Unless you’re planning on finding this guy and taking him down. The way I see it, he lightened our load. What is it you always say? ‘One less to worry about’? Well, now there’s twelve less to worry about.” Sidonis followed Garrus up the access ladder. 

Garrus stepped out onto the roof, making a beeline for the skylight he suspected the shooter used. He tried to pick up on any lingering scent, but the smell of rotting death clung to his nostrils. Nearby industrial fans embedded in the rooftop sucked the noxious fumes right out of the warehouse, making the stench grow stronger the closer Garrus got to the skylight. He circled around, his visor scanning the area trying to match any of the scuff marks and scrapes to a print. He hated to admit it, but he was more than a little impressed. The roof held no clues, nothing to find. Not a single footprint, fingerprint, speck of blood, or strand of hair to be found. They even took their heat sinks. 

 _Why would there be hair? There’s nothing here to suggest the shooter’s human. Focus, Garrus._  

His mandibles fluttered as he opened the skylight and glanced down at the warehouse floor below. Tilting his head to the side he pulled his sniper rifle off his back and pressed the button on the side, the compacted rifle unfolded and snapped into place. Garrus peered through the scope, moving from a crouch to lying on his stomach. His heart rate spiked as the jolt of adrenaline hit his system, just from taking up position with his sniper. He enjoyed the sensation, knowing that it meant he was conditioned for battle, and it would save his life. 

“What are you doing?” Sidonis’ voice, laden with confusion came from over his shoulder. 

Garrus didn’t respond, instead he hunkered down as far as he could and adjusted his scope. Pulling his face away from the rifle, he looked down in the room, his visor picking up on the blood spatter flashing readouts in front of his eye as he tried to determine the height of the shooter. Without the right tools and equipment to mark the locations and heights of the victims, it only frustrated Garrus … Sidonis was right, he needed to quit playing cop and focus on vigilante. He grunted and stood up, ready to leave when movement caught his eye from the warehouse floor. 

A quarian took hesitant steps toward the massacre below, his arm flung up to block his respirator. He made it to roughly the five meter mark before doubling over, coughing and gagging into his mask. Sidonis raised his rifle, taking aim at the quarian below. Garrus put a hand on the muzzle of his rifle and pushed it down. 

“I know him, his name’s Kenn.” Garrus shook his head. “He’s a good kid, has a salvage shop in the markets down by Afterlife.” 

“You want to talk to him? Maybe he knows something?” Sidonis asked. 

Garrus shook his head, reminding himself he needed to let it go. It wasn’t his crime scene, not his case to solve. “No, let’s go. The others are probably getting into trouble without us.” 

Back at Afterlife, Garrus found himself leaning against the wall next to the table where his crew sat, watching their merriment but not taking part in it himself. By the look of Butler, Garrus would be carrying the man home to his wife before the end of the night. Nalah was going to love him for this. Garrus cringed at the thought of the look he knew she’d give him: that accusing glare he got from her every time he brought Butler home wounded or a little too drunk for his own good. 

Garrus would apologize profusely, and she would nod her head at the couch. Garrus spent many nights sleeping on the Butler’s couch, injured or too drunk to find his way back to the base alone. He’d refused the first couple of times until one night she threatened to tie him down if he didn’t take the offer. Butler was lucky, he had a good woman who clearly loved him. Even if she didn’t always like the condition he came home in, it made her proud to have him out there everyday working to make Omega a better place. Garrus didn’t think she liked him, but she respected him, and trusted him enough to keep her husband safe. 

Garrus didn’t like sleeping over, though. Incredibly uncomfortable on the couch, forced to dangle his legs over the edge, he could never get decent sleep. Some nights he was just too drunk to care. He’d let a few of the others convince him to crash at their places a few times, but most nights he’d rather return to the quiet of his base in the Kima District where he could be alone with his thoughts. Where he could stay up all hours of the night tracking merc activity, or thinking about his time aboard the _Normandy_. 

Some nights Garrus would spend hours pouring over the extranet, searching for any sign that the reapers were coming. Some nights he’d think about his family, wallowing in guilt for not being on Palaven for his mother. Fury inevitably followed hard on the heels of his guilt. If he did go home, his father’s disappointment would sting like nettles, adding an endless tension to the visit. 

Other nights he’d think about Shepard. For the first time in his life, he’d felt like someone actually saw _him_ when she looked at him. Shepard didn’t see just another _torin_ in the well oiled turian machine the way most other species did, and she didn’t see a stubborn nail needing hammered in place the way turians did. She saw him, the real him. Or at least she made him feel like she did. She made him feel important, valued; for who he was and what he brought to the team. She even encouraged him to try out for the Spectres again, despite what his father thought.

More than that though, somehow the little human with fiery red hair and the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen earned his complete trust and respect as well. She’d become his best friend, someone he could confide in and rely on. He’d even considered the possibility that they could be something more. He didn’t really have a thing for humans, exactly, and he wouldn’t have even known where to start … but damn it if he wasn’t willing to try. For her. He’d have done just about anything for her. 

They’d talked about it a time or two, mostly just passing jokes made in response to the whispers and waggling brows of the rest of the crew. Garrus spent enough time around humans on the Citadel to know how they flirted, but he also knew that humans weren’t always serious when they did. If not for being so damn awkward with women, Garrus would have made a move … or at least gotten up the courage to make his interest clear. 

Probably better that he didn’t, he supposed. It would have made her dying hurt that much more. He’d barely been able to find his way out of a bottle long enough to look into Spectre training. Not that it did any good; he didn’t follow through with the training. He couldn’t, not when everyone around him mocked him for his insistence that the reapers were real and were coming. Not when the Council insisted on pretending that Sovereign was nothing more than a geth construction. Shepard gave them everything, all the evidence they could possibly need, and she died doing their work, but still they kicked her in the teeth and denied everything she fought for. 

He tried to change things, tried to rally the turians and convince the Council, but everything he said either fell on deaf ears or earned him scorn. What else could he do? One _torin_ alone couldn’t do much. He wanted to continue the fight; finish Shepard’s work and save the galaxy, but how could he save a galaxy that didn’t want to be saved? Instead, he gave up. Walked away and found himself killing mercs and thugs on Omega. 

 _She’d be disappointed in me if she could see me now._  

Garrus cleared his throat, draining his glass before crossing over to the bar for a refill. He had to quit doing this to himself. He took his drink back over to his spot against the wall and forced a smile on his face. His team didn’t need to see him like this. 

“Yeah, so she goes to the asari and says, ‘Hey babe, guess what? I’m pregnant!’ Of course the asari got really upset and asked, ‘Whose is it?’ Then she goes, ‘Whadda ya mean whose is it? It’s yours, of course!’” Monteague grinned at the asari dancer sitting on his lap. 

The dancer threw her head back, the musical laughter filling the air around her grating on Garrus’ nerves, setting his teeth on edge. Lost, Garrus looked to Melanis sitting at the edge of the booth next to him, cringing at the look of disgust on her face. Apparently the human’s joke wasn’t funny to _all_ asari. 

“What did I miss?” Garrus crouched down next to Melanis. 

“He’s talking about an ignorant human bondmate having an affair with another human.” Then again, no one thought about humor when they thought about Melenis. Scathing sarcasm, yes—humor, no. 

Garrus chuckled, the sound empty and hollow to his own ears. “Ah.” 

“What’s your problem tonight?” Melanis nudged Garrus’ shoulder with her own. 

His mandibles fluttered, and he shook his head. “I’m just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night. Hey, do me a favor and make sure Butler gets home tonight. I think I’m going to cut out early, call it a night.” 

Garrus knocked back the rest of his brandy when Melanis nodded and sat the empty glass down in the middle of the table. Standing, he waved goodbye to his team. Most of them didn’t seem to notice, which was fine by Garrus. He prefered it that way; he didn’t want to bring down the party. 

He left Afterlife and started toward the transportation platform to call a cab, but hesitated a few feet from the door, taking a left instead. Maybe he could catch Kenn before he closed down his shop for the night. Garrus made his way into the markets, the warm halo brought on by the alcohol making his thoughts fuzzy around the edges. He just wanted to see what the kid knew; he had to have been in that warehouse for a reason. The young quarian couldn’t possibly be a part of whatever went down there, but he didn’t just stumble on the place either. He knew something. He had to. 

 _Spirits, let it go, Vakarian. Go home, sleep it off._  

His feet kept moving though, carrying him through the door that lead to the markets. Garrus glanced around him before sliding his helmet on over his head, hiding his face and becoming Archangel once again. The front of Kenn’s shop was already closed down, but Garrus could hear music coming from the back room. Garrus hopped over the low, locked gate and leaned against the open doorway to the back room. 

Shelves lined the walls filled with salvaged tech, tools, and bits of scrap metal. In the center of the room, with quarian legs jutting out from beneath, sat a brand new skycar on a rack. A hand appeared from beneath the car, groping around the floor for a tray of tools nearby. Garrus crossed the room, and used his foot to slide the tray closer. The quarian’s hand froze, and slowly Kenn rolled himself out from beneath the vehicle, sitting up on the creeper. 

“Archangel! What uh, what are you doing here? Did you need something? Shop’s closed but I could turn the kiosk back on for you,” Kenn said. 

“Nice car, Kenn. Where’d you get it?” Garrus crossed the room to two suspiciously car shaped objects covered with tarps and lifted the corner of one while Kenn scrambled to his feet. “Three of them? That’s a lot of brand new, expensive cars to be in a salvage shop, isn’t it?” 

“There not mine, I’m working on them … for a friend.” Kenn rubbed the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot nervously. 

Garrus leaned against one of the tarp covered cars and crossed his arms. “Hmmm. So, these aren’t the same cars that were in that warehouse I saw you in earlier tonight? You know, the one filled with dead mercs smelling worse than a varren’s ass?” 

Kenn dropped his head. “I’ll take them back, I swear.” 

“Relax kid, I’m not here about the cars. If I went after every opportunist on Omega, I’d have to blow up the whole station.” Garrus shook his head, it wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the possibility in his darkest times, but the fact was, there were some good people here; they were just severely outnumbered. 

Kenn’s shoulders dropped in obvious relief. “Oh, good. What can I do for you, then?” 

“You can tell me how you knew those cars were there. Who told you about them? Do you know who killed those mercs?” Garrus watched Kenn closely; he hated trying to get information out of quarians. Their enviro-suits made it impossible for him to get a read on their heart rates or any other tell-tale signs that they might be lying. He relied on simple body language, just like everyone else. 

Kenn shrugged and turned back to the car, bending to dig through the tool tray. “I just followed the smell and found them sitting there.” 

“That right? In the Kenzo District?” Garrus asked. 

“Uh, yeah. I was making deliveries.” Kenn sat back on the creeper. “Sorry, I can’t tell you anything about it.” 

His gut told him that the kid was lying, but he didn’t come there to give the quarian a hard time. “Alright. Well, if you find out anything let me know? Someone making shots like that on Omega who isn’t already on my team deserves my attention. I’d like to have them on my side.” Garrus crossed over to the door, turning to look back at Kenn. “You know, if someone is giving you trouble … if you’re scared … .” 

Kenn’s chuckle sounded a little forced to Garrus’ ears, but he let it slide. “The only trouble I’ve got is Harrot and his rigid price enforcement. Thanks, though. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.” 

Garrus frowned behind his helmet and tapped the palm of his hand against the metal of the door frame. “Alright, Kenn. Hey, you should really think about getting some rolling gates or something for out front. Next time it might not be me coming in here.” 

Kenn nodded his head, and Garrus left, jumping over the low gate again to let himself out. He made his way to the transportation platform and took a cab back to the Kima District. Garrus stopped the taxi a few blocks from his base as a precaution, and because he liked to police his own neighborhood as much as possible. Garrus soaked in the quiet night as he walked. Strange to think, but Omega could actually be kind of peaceful during the night cycle in a couple districts. A few people walked the streets by themselves, or in groups of two or three, but they all kept their eyes down and minded their own business. 

Garrus crossed the bridge that would take him to the three-leveled building he commandeered for his base. Prime real estate for a vigilante sniper, with wide, open windows on the top floor providing just enough cover and opened targeting to make it a dream come true for him. Coming in through the front meant crossing a bridge, and that put any unwelcome guests right in his crosshairs. From the back, they’d have to go through the tunnels and get past reinforced steel doors, giving his team plenty of time to get into position. 

The soft glow of a light shining through the upstairs window told him that one of the others already returned. Most of them had their own places, but two or three of them always stuck around incase things went sideways in the night. He climbed the stairs and poked his head into the back room. Melenis sat on one of the beds with her back against the wall, a datapad resting against her bent knees. She looked up and smiled, setting the datapad aside. 

“You get Butler home?” Garrus leaned against the doorframe. 

“Of course. I half carried him there, and Nahla isn’t happy, but he’s home.” Melenis dropped her feet to the floor and stood, stretching her arms above her head. “I thought you were coming back here when you left Afterlife?” 

Garrus lifted a shoulder and let it drop back down. “I decided some fresh air would do me some good.” 

Melenis scoffed and crossed the room to stand in front of Garrus. “There is no such thing as fresh air on Omega.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Garrus pushed away from the wall. “I’m headed to bed. If you’re sleeping here tonight, will you make sure the place gets locked up?” 

“Sure. I can lock up now if you want some company.” Melenis leaned against the spot Garrus vacated. 

A light chuff escaped his throat, his mandibles flaring. “After all this time, why do you still bother to ask?” 

He appreciated the asari’s interest, and he knew Melenis wasn’t the type to pursue him without genuine interest in something more than warming his bed for a few nights. He simply couldn’t return her affection, and he wouldn’t take her up on her offer until he could. He respected her too much to take her to his bed if he couldn’t give her what she was really after. The whole idea of romance and love felt lost on him, something so far beyond his reach in a galaxy facing impending doom, that he couldn’t even fathom the idea. 

A smirk flitted across her face before disappearing again. “After all this time, why do you still say no?” 

Garrus shook his head and stepped out of the room, glancing back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Melenis.” 

“Goodnight, Garrus. I’m here if you change your mind.” He could feel Melenis watching him as he crossed the hall into his room and closed the door behind him. 

Garrus left the lights off, moving over to the half-wall to stare out the window into the darkened streets of Omega. Ripper and Sidonis crossed the bridge down below, Sidonis looking up at Garrus’ silhouette and waving. Garrus returned the wave before picking up a datapad, opening a link to the extranet he typed in his first search phrase of the night, _“Geth dreadnaught sighting.”_


	3. Chapter Three -- Reapers and other Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ragged scream tore from her throat, warping as it echoed off the uneven and pitted walls. She bolted upright, chest heaving, sweat pouring over her skin ... her t-shirt dripping wet. She ran her tongue around the parched interior of her mouth. Reaching next to her, she found her bottle of water, draining it then letting it drop from her hand.
> 
> "Droney, light, high and bright," she said, her voice still a thin croak.
> 
> The drone appeared near the ceiling, brilliant blue-white light flooding the space, but it didn't dispel the nightmare as her stare latched onto the mosaic of horror covering the walls of the space. "How is it Garrus?" she whispered between clenched teeth. She scrubbed the heel of her hand across her brow, hard and frantic.

**Chapter Three: Reapers and other Nightmares**

**Written by MizDirected**

_Something moved in the darkness, gestated in the fires of her dying ship, born out of the blood and screams of people she respected. Respected? Hell, she loved them; her heart beat for them, because they stood fast in the path of the beast and were counted. Even when the galaxy called her mad—called them all mad—they remained._

_When their ship—their home—came under fire, when those beams … those impossibly strong beams rained destruction down on them, she repaid the favour, fighting through fire and vacuum to make sure her people got to safety. And then Joker—that stubborn, beautiful bastard—refused to leave the ship._

_Then Garrus._

_Heart hammering fast and hard, her lungs forgetting how to breathe, she struggled to understand. Why was he still on the_ Normandy? _She'd ordered everyone to evac. He should be in a pod already. But … why was he still on the_ Normandy _at all? She couldn't remember through the fragmented fog of those moments. Wasn't he supposed to be returning to the Citadel, starting Spectre training? The plan … her heart calmed as the plan materialized: badass Spectre partners, taking out the bad guys and preparing the galaxy for the Reapers._

_She remembered, a flash of understanding, bright through the black. She struggled to grab hold of it, to ride that light back to the surface. There always seemed to be one more excuse for him to stay onboard … one more mission needing a good sniper and tech guy. The light slipped from her fingers, dropping her back down … down like she'd fallen …._

_Garrus helped her get Joker out of the pilot seat. Fire and explosions, showers of sparks and outgassing turned the bridge into a maelstrom, but they fought their way through. They made it to the pod, and she let out the breath she'd been holding._

No! No, no … stay wary. It's coming. It's coming for you!

_Garrus climbed into the pod and helped her lift Joker through._

" _Get him strapped in!" She glanced back, just as the enemy cruiser's beams fired again. Their glare seared her eyes, blinding her. A massive fist slammed into her, tearing her mag boots from the floor and her fingers from their desperate grip on the_ Normandy's _frame._

Make sure Garrus and Joker are safe.

_For a moment, panic boiled in her blood. They'd never hit the control in time. Straining, every muscle torquing to fight back against the force, she hit the button. Their screams of denial rang through her helmet, raw and beautiful as another blast sent her spinning end over end through the dark and the fire._

" _Get him strapped in!" were the last words she said to Garrus._

 _She thought her last words spoken face to face with the turian would be a promise to see one another again soon, maybe even agree to a date the next time the_ Normandy _docked at the Citadel. At least she knew he escaped the ship. Regret, rimy and smelling of iron, crackled along her nerves to settle at the base of her spine._

_A faint whisper of mist drifted past her face plate. No! Her air! Fingers scrabbling behind her head, she struggled to find the breach and seal it with her fingers. She could pinch it long enough to slather the whole damned thing in omni-gel. Dammit! She couldn't find it. Seventeen breaths, and then on the eighteenth … nothing. Hands latched around the collar of her armour, lungs on fire, brain screaming, heart racing—denying the inevitable—she fought._

_In the last seconds of her life, her spin tossed her around so that the_ Normandy's _burning corpse appeared once more … or what was left of her. Then there, in the fire, she saw it born: a monster of unholy and unnatural malice, a Reaper formed of flame and death … so massive that it dwarfed the planet that acted as its midwife. It's hunger gnawed at her in those seconds, sharp teeth tearing, shredding her flesh as it ate its way to her center … to find and devour her soul. Dear god, such hunger ... and a hatred malignant and monstrous enough to extinguish all life and all light._

_Forever._

_Screaming, terror snapping at her heels, she fled from the flame-wreathed nightmare, diving into the sweet, cool darkness of oblivion, seeking refuge from its malignant touch in the loving arms of death._

A ragged scream tore from her throat, warping as it echoed off the uneven and pitted walls. She bolted upright, chest heaving, sweat pouring over her skin ... her t-shirt dripping wet. She ran her tongue around the parched interior of her mouth. Reaching next to her, she found her bottle of water, draining it then letting it drop from her hand.

"Droney, light, high and bright," she said, her voice still a thin croak.

The drone appeared near the ceiling, brilliant blue-white light flooding the space, but it didn't dispel the nightmare as her stare latched onto the mosaic of horror covering the walls of the space. "How is it Garrus?" she whispered between clenched teeth. She scrubbed the heel of her hand across her brow, hard and frantic. Pain rose up to accompany the motion, a slow wail like a kettle's whistle easing the pressure building in her chest.

"How?" Crossing her legs, she began to rock, the heel of her hand thumping against her temple. "How?" Thump. "Doesn't matter. He's not safe." Thump. Thump. Speeding up until her cot creaked beneath her frantic plunge back and forth, she hammered at the maelstrom beating at the inside of her skull. "Not safe. Not safe. Not safe."

Tears rolled unchecked over her cheeks, the monster roaring inside her head, the terrible bellow promising to destroy everything she loved. She couldn't save them. She knew that. Trying to save them all would take more strength than her ruined, semi-robotic body and shredded soul possessed. But him. She could save him. She needed to save him. He was going to be a Spectre. Her hand ceased pounding against her skull, returning to rubbing her brow, but slower.

He was going to be someone amazing. She saw it the moment they met. Yes, he had a spark. A beautiful spark that gleamed in the ice blue stare, so lovely it ached: a knife formed of bliss embedded between her ribs. She possessed it once. Once, a death ago, but the monster stripped it away.

_No matter. The galaxy doesn't need you any longer._

She amounted to nothing more than parts and pieces. Holding her hands up, palms facing her, she stared at the cybernetics showing through the flesh at her fingertips. Blood smeared across the pad of muscle at the base of her thumb. Where had that come from? A moment later, a fat drop rolled off her eyebrow, answering the question.

No, she couldn't save them, and they couldn't save her … no one could. No one. The monster had looked straight into her soul, infecting her … marking her. It stalked her every moment, waiting … biding its time, and it would come for her. It would. She knew it would. No, no one could save her.

And even though he couldn't save her—though he'd kill himself trying—maybe Garrus could save them. Yes, Garrus. Garrus could do it. He had the spark, that marvellous spark. The monster had stolen it from her, it's flames and poison piercing her heart to steal her very essence.

But maybe … just maybe, she could find a way to save Garrus. She'd managed to hide him from the monster's sight when it destroyed their home. Maybe that was why the cutters had dragged her from peace and paradise with their scalpels and machines. Tore her from peace and paradise. She thumped the heel of her hand against her temple again. Peace. Oh, how she craved the complete bliss, the weightless wonder of pure thought … pure energy. Through all the cracks and fissures and holes in her skin, the yearning bled out, magma leaking out through the rock.

Thump. Thump. Why had they snatched her from her peace? Her rest? Everything on this side of the veil was agony and fear. Pain and fear. Fear and pain and then more fear and more pain, the monster coming for her even in her sleep. Thump. Her heart fluttered, not quite taking an entire beat, her ribs pressing in on it, crushing it. Harder and faster. Thump. The monster always coming for her. Closer and closer, stalking her from her own shadow. There! Right there, behind the next thought … the next breath. Thump. Harder. So hungry. Thump. Faster. It wanted to rip into her, tear her limb for limb, sink its teeth into everything soft and weak and precious. Thump.

_No! Stop it. Stop it! You can't save him if you lose yourself. Breathe. Just fucking breathe, dammit. You need to think about Garrus. Help Garrus._

Yes, she needed to focus on helping Garrus. She needed to protect him, but how? Her rocking slowed to a slight tremor back and forth. If they'd dragged her back to save Garrus, they'd made a mistake. The monster hollowed her out. Her spark was gone. She probed the place where the gleaming jewel used to live, a tongue poking the gap of a jagged tooth, broken off at the gums. Thump. She couldn't save him as she was … she was Samson without his hair … Arthur struck down by Morgan le Fey, sick and weak. Thump.

Hope bloomed. Arthur. Arthur, broken and hollow, but then refilled!

Fingernails dug at a stinging itch behind her ear, raking the flesh until she felt it give way. Broken. Broken and weak and hollow. Like Arthur, she needed something to fill that broken place, the place where evil had crawled inside … something pure and hopeful. Something cherished and clean … blessed. Thump. But what? Thump.

_Think, dammit. You don't live in Camelot, moron. It's not fantasy as much as you want it to be. What sort of Grail will you find here? There's no Galahad to deliver it to you. There's nothing pure or noble on this rock._

"Except for him." She dropped her hands into her lap, letting out a long, moaning breath. Her mother used to read her stories about the once and future king and his round table of knights. ' _Magic exists everywhere, Janey,' she'd say. 'Only no one takes the time or spends the energy to look for it._ ' She needed magic now. Where? A thick fog rolled in, the depths of it riddled with flame, flashes like poisoned lightning threatening just behind it. The Reaper roared, flame lashing out, threatening to burn her to ashes.

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." Her fist pressed to her brow, knuckles knocking against the bone with a hollow thock … thock … thock, trying to break through, to let the monster free. The pain flashed red and orange, the flames rising up to take her.

_For him? Could you try for him?_

No! The monster would stop her! Always there, always waiting for her to lower her guard for a half second. It roared in her head, the vibrations scattering her thoughts into the fog before they could form. The terrible sound slammed off the inside of her skull, ricocheting off the bone, scraping, gouging.

"Can't think. Can't think. Too loud. Shhhh! So loud." She pounded both fists against her temples and pressed in.

_No, can't hold it in. Must get it out. Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!_

Scrambling up off the cot, she threw herself across her bed chamber to kneel next to a small crate. A pile of scrap papers, napkins, and pieces of paper sacks sat to her left, a small cup filled with markers on the right. Drawings of the nightmare Reaper covered the walls of her living chamber, scrawled across everything from a sugar bag to toilet paper. She snatched a black marker from the cup and a paper napkin off the top of the pile, quick strokes with a trembling hand exorcising the demon, spewing it out of her skull and onto the soft paper.

She rocked as she worked, the tempo easing as she expelled the beast. At last, when its familiar form—wreathed in flame and smoke and formed out of the _Normandy's_ corpse—appeared on the napkin, a long, shuddering sigh escaped from between chattering teeth. The chill of the mine creeped into her flesh, her t-shirt gelid and slimy-feeling against her skin. Silky, soft, and so wonderfully real as it crinkled against her palm, the napkin scrunched up inside her fist. Leaning down, she rested her brow against the crate lid, wrung out, the inside of her skull her own, at last.

Taking, long, deep breaths, she anchored herself in the scents of her home. The faint green bite of the tomato vines, the mineral tang, and old dust … and in there, hidden beneath the rest … her. Hot carbon and strawberry and jasmine … and … pizza sauce.

Her eyelids drifted closed, shuttering in the empty darkness, sheltering the calm inside her head.

She didn't know how much time passed before she lifted her brow from the chill plastic and looked around. What was she doing there? The rock dug into her knees, the sharp bits finding every crack and gap through her skin, small carving knives. She pushed up, using the crate to lever her stiff, aching joints up off the floor and into some semblance of straight.

Her omni-tool beeped that she had an incoming message. She scowled, her fingers hesitating over the interface. No one ever contacted her. No one knew who she was or how to contact her, not even Kenn. She opened the message.

" _Your package arrived from Earth. Not sure how you intended to get it up into that old mine, so someone I trust is delivering it. Better get decent, he's about ten minutes out."_

Her scowl deepened. She was expecting a shipment from Earth, a very important, delicate one, but who … how …? Shoving the paper in her hand into a pocket, she hurried to relieve herself in her makeshift bathroom before taking a shot of her painkillers and wrestling her way into her armour. L'oeuf needed to meet this delivery person, whoever they were, and regardless of who sent them. Although, she suspected that she knew who'd sent the message.

Blue fingers stuck themselves into everyone's pies on Omega. She grabbed her Carnifex off the rack and slung it from her hip.

She hurried out of her living space to check on her garden. A fine mesh gate covered the entrance to the side chamber, mostly to keep things out rather than to keep Harold in. Thresher maws burrowed only through soil, the garden forming the only hospitable environment around. And if he really wanted out, a little acid and he'd be through.

She hurried to the next chamber over and pulled that gate open. New friends! She'd waited months for them to arrive, and excitement slowly won over the wan exhaustion. Still, she turned up the heat in her armour, letting out a sigh of relief so profound that she stumbled into the entrance. Buttressing a hand against the wall, she waited for the lightheadedness to pass as the warmth seeped through.

Before she was quite ready to stand on her own, she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching through the main shaft. A panel van pulled up, landing at the end of the rock outcropping that formed a sort of porch outside her domain. The fact that the driver pulled in without the slightest hesitation sent her heart plunging into her belly.

The floundering organ landed in quicksand when the door opened and Praetor Gavorn, scourge of the station's vorcha, climbed out. Well, that confirmed the origin of the message. Subtle, Aria, subtle. She sucked in a breath deep enough to make her entire torso protest and shoved herself away from the rock. Confident, strong strides crossed the mine floor despite her knees and guts trembling.

"I've got your goats," the turian hollered, his smoky voice echoing up into the asteroid. "Where do you want them?" He opened the back and climbed inside, appearing a moment later with a antigrav lift.

She drew her pistol, keeping it trained on him as she side-stepped around the space, keeping the towering walls to her back. "The crate goes in that chamber there," she said, stabbing the muzzle of her pistol toward the space she'd set up for her new friends. "The pallets of supplies can go in the next one over."

"You know," Gavorn said as he maneuvered the lift under a large livestock crate, "I thought you were a myth … just the crazy rantings of mercs too embarrassed to admit they'd gotten their asses handed to them by Archangel."

Archangel. Garrus. She'd seen Garrus. The memory burned, a coal in the center of her brain begging to start a fire. Something ... . She frowned and pressed a hand to her forehead. There was something about Garrus … she'd just been …. The monster roared, low and threatening. No! She bit down hard on the side of her tongue, the pain driving the memory back into the shadows. Not there! Not in front of Gavorn: Aria's insidious tentacle worming its way into her life.

She needed to keep Garrus a secret and safe. She needed to stay centered and present.

Focusing on Gavorn like a laser sight, she followed him across the chamber, staying sharp and keeping him covered. What had he said? Oh, right.

"I'm not a wild imagining. I'm a ghost, just a ghost haunting an old mine filled with other ghosts." She blocked the entrance to her goat chamber as he lowered the crate, shifting it around so it stood at the back of the space. "There's no need for anyone to know about one more ghost."

Gavorn chuckled and raised his hands, palms out, in front of him. "I'm being paid very well to make a delivery, and unless my employer says otherwise, I have complete amnesia regarding where it went and to whom." He nodded toward the truck. "So, unless you're going to use that thing, you need to get out of my way." When she didn't move, he chuffed. "I have an actual job to do."

She backed out of his way without lowering the gun, staying wary but silent as he unloaded the pallet of supplies and two pallets of feed—enough for a year. When he went back into the truck, emerging with a pallet she didn't order, she moved to block him again.

"What's this?" she asked, stabbing the muzzle of the pistol toward the extra pallet of crates.

Gavorn shrugged and lowered the forks, depositing the pallet next to the others. "A gift from Aria? How am I supposed to know." He pushed past her and backed the antigrav unit away, returning to the truck hovering at the edge of the platform. "She didn't give me a list."

She shook her head. "No. Take it back. I don't accept gifts or gratuities. You can take it back and tell Aria, thanks but no. She can't buy me." She slammed her arms down over her chest, the gates falling.

_Okay, message received little blue fingers: I know who and where you are, and your continued freedom, maybe even existence is dependent on my good will._

He chuffed, a deep rattle of disdain. "Aria said deliver this crap to you; I delivered the crap to you. What you do with it is your business, lunatic." Casting a quick glare over his shoulder, he locked the lift in place. "I'm not putting it back on the truck. Stop glaring at me before I mistake you for a vorcha, and we see how quick you are with that pistol."

Uncrossing her arms, she trained the Carnifex on the center of his head. "I don't have to be fast." For a moment, temptation prodded her with impatient fingers, daring her to shoot one off … to scare him a little. Her finger tensed on the trigger, but then the goats' soft bleating eased her back off. They'd been through enough without her scaring them out of their fur … hair?

Gavorn let out a sharp laugh and punched the lift control on the truck, jumping clear as it began to close. "Oh," he said, opening the driver's side door, then looking back over his shoulder, "she said to tell you that you can find that thing you lost near the entrance to Kima district." A slight shrug answered her tight-lipped and narrow-eyed, but unspoken question. "Don't know; don't want to know. Enjoy your goats." He climbed in, and a second later, the thrusters engaged, propelling the truck up into the empty traffic lanes.

She watched until the truck disappeared from sight, then activated her scanner to both make sure it vacated completely and that Aria didn't have any more surprises awaiting her. That thing she lost? Seriously? Subtle as a brick through a window, that Aria. Once the coast was clear, she turned to face her newest companions. The old ones could wait until the new ones were cozy in their new home.

"Hello you two little beauties," she said, crooning softly as they shuffled around their crate. "Have I got the spot laid out for you." Crouching next to the crate door, she stuck her fingers through, letting them get her scent. "I've got to make sure that Harold is locked in, then I'll let you out. It took me the whole two months you were travelling to gather them all up, but I've got wood shavings laid out in a bed that will make you think you've gone to goat heaven."

Settling into the peaceful bliss of mindless labour, she spent the next couple of hours aware of little beyond making her new guests comfortable. The distraction they provided repaid the insane cost of their purchase and transport before she even let them out of their cage.

(A-N: Thanks to everyone on the enthusiastic reception to the first couple of installments on this story. It's very encouraging. Egg (L'oeuf) is both a lot of fun and heart breaking to write. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.)


	4. Chapter Four: Vindicators and Mattocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus moved to Weaver, crouching again. Weaver sat with her pistol on her thigh, working at the clasps of her armor.
> 
> "Concussive shot. Up close and personal." She shook her head, pressing her lips into a thin line.
> 
> Garrus pushed her trembling hand away. How often had he help Shepard with her armor? He saw the problem before his visor diagnosed the dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs. He frowned, sliding his helmet off. How many times had he set a dislocated shoulder for Shepard?

**Written by MosaicCreme**

**(Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary)**

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

Garrus loaded his playlist on his visor, the sound of ' _Die for the Cause'_ filling his aural canal. He watched Sidonis position himself on the catwalks through his scope. The other _torin_ nodded his head in confirmation. Down below Weaver and Butler ducked behind a crate, ready to provide covering fire so Ripper and Grundan Krul could move into place. Melenis and Monteague would move in next, covering the right flank.

So far, the Eclipse remained oblivious. He dared to hope for a minute it might just go off without a hitch. Mercs were the least of his concerns, though they wouldn't be walking out alive. He'd make damn sure of that. The primary target was Gus Williams, a human weapons smuggler who got a little too greedy the last few weeks.

Garrus went through the rundown. "Three asari, two salarians, and half a dozen humans in yellow. Four more humans, armed but unarmored; Williams' goons. No sign of mechs yet, but this is Eclipse, they'll be here. Williams' hasn't shown his ugly mug yet. He'll be in the back, guarded." Garrus waited for the nods of affirmation.

"Melenis, give them a light show; flush them out. Monteague, Krul keep their shields down." He put his eye back to his scope, lining up a headshot. "Pick your targets. Stick to cover. Let's do this."

It all went to hell when Ripper didn't stick to the plan.

_Damn krogan never sticks to the plan._

Ripper roared, barreling toward a human in Eclipse uniform only to be hit by two other Eclipse. Garrus shifted his crosshairs to the Eclipse with the shotgun. "Monteague, Melenis, get him out of there. Weaver, Butler, cover them." He pulled the trigger and smirked as the merc dropped his weapon, stumbling three steps before crashing to the floor.

A moment later Ripper's intended victim fell to his knees, struggling to get back up after Sidonis' shot went wide, catching him in the shoulder. Melenis and Monteague moved out, spraying the area with assault rifles, flinging biotics to push back the mercs. Ripper pushed back to his feet, brushing off Monteague's hand before bellowing at the nearest merc.

"Ripper, get your ass back to cover!" Garrus growled, low and threatening in the comm.

Ripper glared at Garrus' position. Lifting his assault rifle, he filled the air in front of him with a spray of bullets, backing away to a nearby crate. A Singularity sprung to life above Ripper, pulling Monteague and Melenis off of their feet. It tugged at the krogan but couldn't pull him in. A bullet ripped through Melenis' armor, low in the abdomen. Violet blood swirled, caught in the Singularity. Ripper charged in again, smashing the nearest merc in the face with the butt of his rifle.

The doors at the back of the warehouse opened, releasing more guns as well as LOKI and FENRIS. In all the commotion, Williams made a run for it. Garrus growled in frustration, he needed to take his shot on Williams while could. His mandibles flared, pressing against the inside of his helmet.

"Sidonis, cover them. We've got a runner." Garrus swung his sniper rifle around, lining up the crosshairs with the back of Williams' retreating skull.

The screams coming from his team tore at him, demanding his attention, but he took a breath and pulled the trigger, landing a clean headshot. William's died before he hit the floor. Garrus grinned in satisfaction, turning back around to pick off the enemy. His smile froze when he realized Ripper was down again, and Melenis still wasn't back on her feet. Weaver sat propped against a crate with one arm hanging uselessly at her side, firing her pistol with the other. Eclipse pinned Krul.

Garrus clenched his jaw, cold resolve steeling his spine as he reloaded and took aim. Fear pricked at the back of his skull like death looking over his shoulder. His visor flashed data, giving him a readout on his team's vitals. They were all still alive, but if the tide didn't change fast, he'd be burying someone before the night was over.

_Not on my watch. Pick your target. Aim. Shoot._

Garrus lined up his crosshairs and pulled the trigger. He didn't wait to confirm the kill, setting his sights on the next one. One by one, he and Sidonis whittled them down, showing no mercy as they retreated from the injured squad. Once the pressure eased, his team rallied.

When the last merc fell, Garrus left his perch. Garrus' shadow fell over Ripper, and he opened his eyes, a grin splitting his face. He pushed against the floor, trying to get to his feet. Garrus crouched down next to him and planted a palm on his armored chest, pushing him back down with more force than necessary.

"Medi-gel, Ripper. You have it for a reason. If you're going to be stupid the second things get exciting, be smart enough to keep your ass alive." Garrus activated the Medi-gel dispenser in Ripper's suit.

Sidonis and Monteague helped Melenis to her feet, getting her a second dose of Medi-gel. Garrus moved to Weaver, crouching again. Weaver sat with her pistol on her thigh, working at the clasps of her armor.

"Concussive shot. Up close and personal." She shook her head, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Garrus pushed her trembling hand away. How often had he help Shepard with her armor? He saw the problem before his visor diagnosed the dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs. He frowned, sliding his helmet off. How many times had he set a dislocated shoulder for Shepard?

"This is going to hurt like hell. I'm sorry." Garrus settled a palm against Weaver's shoulder, gripping her bent elbow with the other.

She nodded, her jaw set against the threat of pain. He pulled slow and steady on her arm, rotating it out and away, creating traction until he heard the joint slip back into place, feeling it grind through her bones. Weaver whimpered, sweat breaking out on her forehead. If she wanted to scream, she didn't let herself. Shepard never did either. He lowered her arm gently to her side before activating her suit's Medi-gel dispenser.

Garrus stood, turning his attention back to Ripper. "What happened to the plan?" His voice low with a forced calm that contradicted the oncoming storm rumbling through his throat.

Sidonis coughed, his sub-vocals urging caution. Garrus fluttered his mandibles, keeping his eyes locked on the krogan. "You've got to rein yourself in if you're going to stay on this team. This isn't the Blood Pack, Ripper. We're not a team built of krogan. We can't play to brute strength and redundant nervous systems." Garrus jabbed at the air between them with a finger. "You charge in, you're either charging alone, or forcing your squad into the open to cover your ass." He turned to the side, throwing an arm out at Melenis. "Look at her. I had to either leave you for dead or risk Melenis and Monteague to cover you. Ant then, when Melenis took one to the gut, you rushed back out and left her to bleed."

Ripper rolled his neck on his shoulders, loud cracks echoing off the warehouse walls in the silence. He looked between Garrus and Melenis. "Sorry, boss."

Garrus let Ripper's bitter words sit between them, disappointment coating his tongue in slime. "You're apologizing to the wrong person. I'm not the one who almost bled out."

"Boss, you're going to want to see this." Krul's voice crackled through the comms.

Garrus spared one last look at Ripper before heading to the back, sliding his helmet back on and drawing his assault rifle as he went. A handful of crates, open and half-filled with weapons, created a maze. A desk sat in the far corner, datapads scattered across it, abandoned when Williams fled. Krul and Mierin stood together behind the desk, their pistols drawn on a salarian stripped to his under armor. Beaten and shot, the salarian watched Garrus' arrival through swollen, determined eyes.

Garrus pulled out the desk chair. Settling into it he draped an ankle over his knee, resting his gun in his lap. "What's your name?"

"What does it matter? I know who you are. What you do with people like me." The salarian's gaze shifted between the three of them.

"And what kind of person are you?" Garrus tapped a talon on his assault rifle.

The salarian snorted, soft and phlegmy, starting a trickle of blood from his nostril. "I _was_ Eclipse."

"And now?" Garrus asked.

"Now I'm nothing. Just a salarian waiting to die." He lifted his shoulder, wiping the blood away from his lip.

"Hmmm. Looks like that's what they had in mind for you. Tell me, what does an Eclipse do to get this kind of treatment from his brothers in arms?" Garrus tapped his finger again, his flaring mandibles pushing against his helmet.

The salarian let his head loll back on his shoulders, resting it against the corner of the wall. "Tries to leave."

"That it?" Garrus dropped his ankle and leaned forward, elbows on his knees with his assault rifle between them.

"No." The salarian rolled his head back and forth. "They especially don't like it when you're caught forwarding a shipping manifest to your uncle in STG on your way out." He lifted his head, staring at Garrus once more. "Can we get this over with already? I'm tired."

Garrus chuckled, earning him sideways glances from his team. "Why?"

"Why what?" The salarian blinked his swollen eyelids.

"Why join? Why leave? Why forward the shipping manifest to your uncle? What did you hope to accomplish?" Garrus waved a hand, frustration wearing his patience thin. "Why any of it? Take your pick."

The salarian watched Garrus in silence, lifting a shoulder to wipe his face again. "Not a lot of options on Omega. I had to do something to survive. So, when the Eclipse found me and offered me work, I took it. I bided my time, saved what I could." He looked down at his hands, shaking his head. "Until it all got to be too much. I thought my uncle could do something to stop the shipment. Keep these guns from going to someone worse than the Eclipse. Maybe he could even put them to use in STG." He looked back up at Garrus, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "I tried to do the right thing for once, but I got caught."

Garrus let out a weary sigh, waving to Mierin and Krul as he stood. They followed him to the other side of the office where they could talk in private.

"He doesn't seem to be lying." Garrus leaned against the wall, his assault rifle held over his chest. "Can't kill him, and I can't leave him here like this."

"It'll take some time, but once I get into their systems I can try to verify his story." Krul offered with a shrug.

Garrus looked at the batarian. "How much time?"

"I won't know 'til I look at it. Based on what I've seen from them before, it could take a half hour maybe longer." Krul scratched at the stubble on his chin, shrugging.

"He isn't going to last much longer. His slow responses, slurred speech. At the very least he's severely concussed, but I'm guessing he probably has severe internal injuries." Meirin glanced back over at the other salarian. "Medi-gel isn't going to be enough, he needs a doctor if you want him to live."

Garrus activated his mic. "Sidonis come on back here." He pushed away from the wall. "Krul, see if you can get into their systems. Even if his story is crap, we could use whatever information they have. Mierin, you and Sidonis get him on his feet. Take him to Dr. Solus. If he gets out of hand, kill him. You can leave once Dr. Solus has him, the doctor can fend for himself."

Garrus left the office as Sidonis entered, pausing to nod his head at the back corner. "Give Mierin a hand." Sidonis nodded before making his way to the back.

Garrus sent the injured back to the base to recover. Ripper regenerated enough that he could easily stay, even jump right into another battle. He certainly could've helped move heavy crates, but Garrus didn't want him there. He wanted Ripper back at the base to defend it if anyone attacked while the others recuperated, and so he'd be the one forced to deal with Melenis' bad mood.

He busied himself checking crates, taking inventory with Monteague's help while Krul hacked Williams' systems, and Butler kept watch at the door. A few moments later, Sidonis and Mierin made the slow march out of the office carrying the salarian with his arms strung over their shoulders. He kept his right leg cocked, up off the floor, doing his best to keep up the pace hopping on his left. His eyes found Garrus and locked on to him, watching until they led him out of sight.

"What's with him?" Monteague nodded his head toward the salarian.

"He claims he tried to leave the Eclipse, but got caught sending info to STG. They're taking him to the clinic in the Gozu District." Garrus pried open another crate, revealing an array of shotguns.

"You buying it?" Monteague scanned the crate with his omni-tool.

"Krul's looking for verification." Garrus moved on to the next crate. "Either way, he's not our problem."

"You know, boss … if he's telling the truth … ." Monteague helped Garrus pry open the crate, sliding the top down to the floor.

The thought had already occurred to him. If the salarian's story checked out, he could be a potential recruit. "Yeah. We'll talk about it later. He isn't good to anyone right now." Garrus reached into the crate and picked up a M-15 Vindicator assault rifle, nodding in approval.

Krul got into the systems in twenty minutes. Erash, the salarian, told the truth. He'd been marked for death, and Garrus' team interrupted his slow execution. Krul forwarded what data he could find before clearing Williams' listed account of credits.

Sidonis and Mierin returned in time to help load what they were keeping. The rest would be taken to the incinerators. He made the decision to burn confiscated weapons when he first started out as Archangel. He stood steadfast, but it remained a matter of contention among his team. Some of them wanted to stockpile everything they came across, others wanted to sell them in the markets.

He wanted to clean Omega, make it a better place, and that would never happen if they were putting weapons back out on the streets. When he could, he sent shipments to Illium for Liara, and she'd send a few credits his way. Garrus never asked for the details, but he trusted Liara to make sure they didn't end up in the wrong hands. He'd sent her a shipment a week before, so she wouldn't be ready for more.

Besides, reaching out to Liara meant listening to her worry about him, telling him she wished he would change his mind about returning home. He couldn't go home. Palaven hadn't been his home since the day he met Shepard. His home lay ripped to pieces, crashed on Alchera along with his foolish hopes of having a future at Shepard's side. Garrus still had trouble wrapping his head around how exactly Liara went from the quiet, reserved archeologist they rescued on Therum to the ruthless, cold, calculating information broker she'd become. Maybe Shepard's death hit her harder than he thought.

After the final trip to the incinerator, Butler's stomach started a low rumble. "Where's a miracle pizza when you need one?"

Garrus grinned, fluttering his mandibles until a thought occurred to him. How had he missed something so obvious? "Hey, Butler, do you remember where that pizza came from?"

"Yeah, sure. Zullius' Place. Why, you hungry, too, boss?" Butler grinned. "They're dextro friendly."

"Yeah." Garrus bobbed his head. "Yeah, I think I am."

Butler lead the way to Zullius' Place. Monteague and Sidonis joining them while the others went their own way. Neon lights flickered above the counter a _torin_ stood behind busily taking orders and preparing food. A batarian sat at one end, and a turian at the other. The stools between the two were empty, but a human stood near the middle waiting, arms crossed.

Garrus hung back, letting the others crowd in around the counter. The _torin_ Garrus assumed was Zullius finished up, putting the wrapped sandwich in a bag and handing it to the waiting human before smiling at Butler.

"Zullius!" Butler swung his palm out, meeting the _torin's_ in a loud clap.

"Butler, good to see you. What are you having today?" Zullius leaned against the counter on his forearms.

_Of course Butler's on a name basis with him. Butler's probably on a name basis with every damn restaurant owner on the damn station._

"OK, so you're never going to believe this, but the other day someone threw one of your pizzas out of a vent, and it landed right at my feet like a miracle. I'm telling you; heaven sent. Anyway, it was fucking magnificent, and I want another just like it." Butler rambled off, making Garrus cringe inwardly.

Garrus planned on asking the _torin_ a little more discreetly about the pizza and who might have ordered it, but he couldn't honestly say Butler's lack of reservation surprised him.

Zullius chuckled, his sub-vocals broadcasting genuine amusement. He pulled out a pan and started preparing dough. "Can't make it for you if I don't know what was on it."

Butler's grin grew as he rubbed his palms together. "Cheese, pepperoni, onion, and pineapple."

"You're serious?" Zullius laughed when Butler nodded enthusiastically. "Must have been L'oeuf. That girl loves to eat. I think she lives for food. Wonder why she'd throw it out." His head tilted to the side, a grin spreading across his face. "Maybe she thought you were attractive? Better tell her about your wife the next time I see her, yeah?"

Butler shrugged. "Hey, if the pizza angel wants to look that's fine by me so long as she gives me the good stuff."

"Hey, what's this L'oeuf look like? I'm not married." Monteague bumped his shoulder against Butler's, climbing up onto a stool next to him.

Garrus felt overjoyed to have Monteague on his team in moments like this. The human might not have the best social graces, but he'd been C-Sec once, and just like Garrus, he still thought like C-Sec. Butler took a seat next to Monteague. Sidonis gave Garrus an inquisitive look, and Garrus nodded his head. Sidonis took the stool next to Butler while Garrus slipped in next to Monteague. The two _torins_ sat sideways, watching each others backs as they joined the conversation. When the other two customers left, Garrus slipped his helmet off, resting it on his knee. Zullius' eyes lingered on Garrus a few seconds longer than he was comfortable with.

"L'oeuf? Humans really aren't my thing, but uh, I don't think you'd be too interested in L'oeuf." Zullius said pressing the dough into the pan, covering it with a red sauce.

Monteague laughed. "Why? Something wrong with her?"

The _torin_ lifted his shoulder as he worked, his mandibles flaring wide. "She's … she was in an accident or something. She's cut up all over the place far as I can tell. It never seems to heal, either. Could be some sort of human disease I haven't heard of. I don't know, maybe mercs did it to her." Zullius cast a furtive glance at Garrus. "She runs around in Blue Suns' armor, except she painted the sun to look like an egg."

Garrus shifted on the stool, leaning forward. His interest piqued enough to smother the quiet alarm warning him that Zullius seemed a tad too interested in him. "Blue Suns armor?"

Zullius hesitated, and Garrus caught the bitter scent of trepidation roll off of the _torin_. Garrus glanced at Sidonis, knowing he caught the scent, too. Zullius lifted his shoulder in a stiff shrug.

"Yeah, well, you know, she probably just found it somewhere. Maybe from a merc Archangel took out or something." Zullius spread out a layer of cheese, following it up with pepperoni.

Butler snickered, and Monteague elbowed him in the ribs. Butler hissed. "Ow! What?!"

The exchange didn't go unnoticed by the restaurant owner. Garrus released a slow breath through his nose, calming the spike of anger and annoyance rushing through him. Spirits he loved his team, they were his family now, but damn it if he didn't miss working with professionals. Zullius turned his attention back to Garrus, staring at him unabashedly, his mandibles set hard in his resolve.

"You know, Archangel saved my life once. Don't think he even realized it." Zullius looked back to the pizza, spreading out onion and pineapple.

"That so?" Garrus' mandibles fluttered lightly as he scented the air, trying to pick up on any hint of deceit or aggression from the _torin,_ finding none.

"Absolutely." Zullius glanced at Sidonis. "He had another _torin_ with him, too. Just about six blocks from here. About … hmm, I guess it's been about a cycle ago now. A group of Blood Pack followed me home. I didn't have the protection money they wanted. I'd avoided them for days, but they found me. They almost had me when Archangel appeared out of nowhere with this other _torin_. I didn't stick around to see how it all played out." Zullius carried the pizza over to an oven. "Didn't want to get caught in the crossfire. I never saw him again, didn't get the chance to thank him."

Garrus remembered the night when still new to Omega. He and Sidonis were the only ones at the time, still getting their feet wet, getting the lay of the land. They only targeted small groups, and only when they could catch them off guard. Garrus thought he remembered seeing a _torin_ running in the distance. He hadn't given it any thought until now.

Zullius came back to the counter to stand in front of Garrus. "So, can I get you anything?"

"Hmmm. I'll have the number three. Rare. Please." Garrus avoided looking at his crew, feeling their eyes on him.

"You got it." Zullius took Monteague and Sidonis' orders and started cooking.

"So, this L'oeuf wears merc armor but isn't one?" Monteague asked when Zullius put his sandwich in front of him.

"No. In fact, I'd say she'd despise being mistaken for one. Though I have seen her come in with blood on her armor, and she does carry guns. At the very least, she knows how to take care of herself." Zullius finished Garrus and Sidonis' order, setting steaming plates in front of them. "She's a little off in the head, but she's good people." He nodded toward the pizza oven. "She brings in stuff from her garden. Teaches me how to make human dishes."

"What kind of guns?" Garrus raised a brow plate, happy to have the conversation back on L'oeuf and away from him.

Zullius shrugged. "I've seen her with a bit of everything. She seems to favor that Viper of hers."

"What do we owe you?" Garrus opened his omni-tool, ready to pay for the meal when Zullius shook his head.

"It's on the house." Zullius cleared his throat. "Consider it a 'thank you'."

Garrus opened his mouth to protest, to insist Zullius must have him confused with someone else, but Zullius walked away before Garrus could utter a word. Garrus snapped his jaw closed, turning his fork over in his fingers before sighing. Zullius opened the pizza oven and pulled out the fresh pie, carrying it over to sit on a heat resistant pad in front of Butler. Garrus finished his meal in silence, trading looks with his crew as they ate.

As soon as he finished he slipped his helmet back on. "I'm headed out. I'll catch up with you guys later."

His crew nodded and waved him off. Zullius rapped his knuckles quickly against his chest in a turian salute. Filled with resignation, he dipped his head in acknowledgement before leaving. There were a lot of puzzle pieces tumbling around in his head, and he hoped a walk might just be the thing to help him fit them all together. He was wrong.

"Archangel?" A deep, unmistakably batarian voice called to him from the shadows.

Garrus spun, his assault rifle whirring to life in his grip. A batarian with his own rifle hanging limply across his waist stepped out of the shadows, a hand held palm out gave Garrus pause.

"I'm just a messenger. Aria wants to see you." The batarian dropped his hand, cupping his assault rifle.

Garrus dug his tongue into the tip of a tooth, debating on whether to shoot the batarian or not. All he'd done was identify him as Archangel. He hadn't shot Zullius who, although tiptoed around it, did the same thing. "What does Aria want with Archangel?" He glanced around him, keeping his rifle trained on the batarian. He saw no one in the vicinity.

"She says it's time you return the favor." The batarian shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on his weapon, but he still didn't point it at Garrus.

"What favor? Aria hasn't done me any favors." Garrus kept his rifle steady, No way would he lower it with one of Aria's men standing in front of him, hostile or not.

The batarian smirked, showing small pointed teeth. "Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night. I suggest you don't keep her waiting. She only asks nicely once. You've been guaranteed safe passage, so long as you come alone and don't make her send for you again."

_And of course he found me alone. Can't be a coincidence. Tarc. I've got to go. I'm kidding myself if I think she can't find me again. She probably already knows where the base is. If she sends someone to the base … I can't jeopardize my team._

Garrus' mandible snapped tight against his jaw, giving the batarian a curt nod. "Alright. Let's go."

"Smart move." The batarian stepped out of the alley, walking in front of Garrus. He activated his mic. "Bringing him in now."

Garrus' hackles rose when they were met by another batarian and two turians along the way. They said nothing to him, only fell in around him like an armed honor guard. He couldn't keep his eyes on all of them at once, let alone keep his rifle trained on them all so he pulled it in against his armor. His heart pounded against his ribs, the stench of his own fear tickling his nose.

_What would Shepard do? Diplomacy. She'd try for diplomacy first, wouldn't she? Of course she would, she'd march right up to Aria and talk her way out of this. If that didn't work, she'd shoot her way out with me at her six. I'm not a damn diplomat, and she isn't here at my six. Damn it, Shepard._

True to her word, the guards took him through Afterlife straight up to Aria's office without a hint of confrontation. They broke away from Garrus, leaving him standing at the foot of a set of guarded stairs, leading up the the Queen of Omega herself. Garrus put a foot on the first step, and the guards pointed their weapons at him. He paused, his eyes locked on the asari sitting on a couch at the top, a smug smile on her face as she waved a hand dismissively. The guards lowered their weapons, and Garrus hesitantly took another step. When the guns didn't come back up, he made his way to the top.

She nodded her head at the couch. Garrus considered telling her to go to hell but thought better of it and sat down, as far away from her as he could get. He expected her to talk, to tell him why she summoned him, but she just sat there, not even looking at him.

Finally, Garrus cleared his throat. "Why am I here, Aria?"

"Have you enjoyed your time on Omega, Archangel?" Aria glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth before returning her gaze forward. "Gathering your little team? Roaming the streets and fighting crime?"

"What crime? Thought there's only one rule on Omega?" Garrus bit down on his tongue but couldn't take back the snide remark.

Aria laughed. "That's right. One rule. My rule. Don't fuck with Aria. Do you know why you're still alive, Archangel?"

Garrus' fluttered his mandibles, fighting back a thousand sharp responses, none of which would help him get out of there alive. "Because I don't fuck with you?"

Aria laughed again, pushing herself off the couch she started down the steps. She looked at him over her shoulder, urging him to his feet. "Because you amuse me."

Garrus followed her down the steps, his eyes constantly shifting between the back of Aria's exposed head and her guards.

"You actually think you can _change_ Omega. If you take out enough of the _bad guys_ , you can make this a safer place. Problem is, on Omega, you kill one, two more show up to take their place. Omega doesn't _want_ to be changed." Aria crossed the floor to stop in front of a display case between two booths set up in the back.

Garrus kept his eyes on Aria as she ran her hands over the brightly lit display case. "And you expect me to do … what for you exactly, Aria? I doubt you called me here just because I amuse you."

"Hardly." Aria turned, stepping to the side of the case, resting her arm on it. "You see, I've got a problem. A nuisance, really. I can't send my men in to deal with it without … upsetting the natural balance of things here on Omega."

Aria tapped her fingers on the display case, the movement drawing Garrus' attention. His throat spasmed the second his eyes landed on the M-96 Mattock sitting in the case. Every turian in the office shifted nervously, their eyes on Garrus. They could hear the threatening hum of his sub-vocals, smell the fury wash over him. He swallowed back a bellow of rage, taking in a shallow breath. His fingers twitched on his assault rifle. He'd recognize _that_ weapon anywhere. The way the grip was worn down. The chips in the paint. The knick in the muzzle. _Shepard's_ assault rifle.

Aria still talked, and he forced his attention back to her. He heard her, but the words weren't registering with him. Everything about this felt like a trap. She knew who he was, and she wanted him to know it. Why else would she make sure he saw Shepard's rifle? He couldn't react—no more than he already had. He wouldn't rise to the bait.

"So, I'm sending you in to take care of it. Keep whatever you find, I don't care. Just make sure no one gets out alive. No one. Am I clear?" Aria's words finally sunk into Garrus' skull.

"I'm not going to kill innocent bystanders for you." Garrus bit the words out through clenched teeth aching to rip her throat out.

Aria threw her head back laughing. She looked around the room until everyone present save Garrus laughed with her. "Innocent? On Omega? Awww." She slapped Garrus' helmet lightly over his cheek. "You won't have to. They don't keep civilians around. Anyone there would be more than deserving of your particular type of vigilante justice."

His hands screamed in protest, wanting nothing more than to sink talons into her soft flesh and tear her apart. He needed to get out of there and fast. He was a few choice words away from shooting Aria right in her pretty blue face. The only way out was to agree. "I need the details. Everything you've got."

Aria smirked and turned back to the stairs, waving her hand over her shoulder. "Anto, give Archangel what he needs then have his escort take him to the transportation platform."


	5. Chapter Five: Images Blowing on a Long-forgotten Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This picture was taken before, of course. Before the blood and death. The screaming … God, the terrible screaming, and the fire and the blood. So much blood in the dark. Flashes and explosions, grenades and rockets lighting up the black. Dead. Everywhere dead, and not just the bad guys … the enemy, but also my people and civilians. So many civilians strewn like dead leaves. Dead leaves in November ... lost. So lost."

**Written by MizDirected**  

Tussat Flower: A large, blue-green flower that forms on a cactus type plant with long, oval pads. When the flower goes to seed, the petals are replaced by a very tough but delicate silk fibre used in weaving. Tussat silk is extremely soft but hardy, making it the favourite material for clothing, linens, and upholstery.

* * *

The plastic wrapping that encased the palate fell away before her blade. "There's just something cleansing about physical labour, don't you agree?" She glanced over at the goats, both of the Nigerian Dwarves standing at the gate watching her. They'd huddled in their crate at first, but she'd just closed their gate and set to work, talking the whole time. It had taken less than two minutes before she heard them rustling around in their shavings.

She smiled at their sweet, little faces and long, floppy ears. At the time she ordered them, she'd just had her first varren cheese pizza and could think of nothing but real cheese. Cattle were not practical in the least, so her next best option had been goats. Nigerian Dwarves provided a lot of milk for their size, so they'd proven the natural choice.

Carnivores, on the other hand, did not make good dairy animals as much as she respected the bravery of the people who milked them. Varren cheese, as accustomed to it as she'd become, tasted a little like the cottage cheese that got forgotten in the back of the fridge until two weeks past its date. Once these two dropped their kids, she'd be able to make real cheese … tasty cheese.

She closed her eyes, her mouth watering at the thought of gouda and fresh tomatoes. Maybe she could purchase an oven and make bread. Even at the ass end of the galaxy, grocery stores stocked dry goods galore thanks to their ease of shipping.

A bleat drew her gaze back to the goats. The goats; she really needed to name them. She smiled. As she watched her two new friends watching her right back, their pregnant little bellies bouncing a little as they scented out their new home, she knew milk would prove the least of the abundance they brought into her life.

They were company. Someone to talk to who didn't just bob in the air or spit acid, so she talked to them, using the tone of her voice to coax them out. And while her voice calmed them, their presence and the simple, honest work of caring for them helped calm her, pushing back the darkness pacing the interior perimeter of her skull.

She paused in tearing back the plastic, poking at the blank spot, the missing chunk of her morning, probing at it like a tongue pushing at the emptiness and raw nerve endings left by a missing tooth. Fear exploded in her chest, her heart fluttering, pounding with quick, shallow beats. A terrible roar echoed through that void. She pulled back, startled away from probing further. No. No, she didn't want to know what lurked on the other side. She forgot it all for a reason. She forgot passing through that hellmouth for a reason. Focusing on how she'd been thrown into this universe of filth and pain … well, that meant looking in the wrong direction … toward the entrance. She needed to focus on finding the exit.

"Don't worry," she soothed as the two does bleated, shifting restlessly as they sensed her fear, "it's okay. You're safe here." She dragged the plastic off the pallet, wrapping it around her arm as she walked over to the gate. Crouching down, she reached through the wire squares to let them sniff her fingers. "I won't hurt you," she said, letting out a long sigh, "and I won't let anyone else hurt you either. I'm very good at protecting people." Brows raised, she nodded, earnest, as her heart reached out to comfort them. "Trust me. When I was alive, I protected all sorts of people."

" _No! Come on. Come on, baby girl. Breathe for me. You can do it. Just breathe for me."_

Her voice slowed and dropped, the heel of her hand lifting to press against her temple. "All sorts of people."

" _Ash! Don't give up. We can get you out of there. Just keep up with Garrus and Liara. You're tougher than a couple of bullet holes."_

She spun, startled by a sound. Something flapped, the snap of sheets strung out on a line, blowing in a sultry, July wind. Nothing moved. She shifted closer to the gate, closing her eyes as she pressed her side against the barrier, seeking shelter … safety at her back. "Nothing there," she said, her voice a breathy mutter that echoed through her head. Clapping her hands over her ears, she pushed in, as if she could crush the sweet, comforting sound right out of her skull.

" _Animals respond to calm voices and caring, gentle hands, Kitten." A heavy palm rested on her shoulder. "They're better judges of character than we are, possessing an innocence and connection to the divine that humanity can only dream of rediscovering." The hand slipped around her, pressing her against a wall of warmth. "You must always respect that innocence and trust, repaying it with kindness and respect." A rough chuckle scratched against her, a thick tangle of beard the colour of new copper._

She paused, forehead crinkling as the black curtain billowed, undulating and alive, flowing in the burst of wind that tore forward through the years, whistling down corridors of memory long abandoned. Spectral whispers blew ahead of it, scraps of images, torn pictures that brushed past her, their edges sharp.

"No. Forward. The light is not behind me but ahead." Pulling free, she batted the curtain aside. It tangled around her limbs and clouded her mind, dragging her backwards. She shook, trying to rid herself of the last vestiges of the past. Instead, the motion prompted one of the image shards to embed itself behind her eyes: a child giggled with delight as a pony rolled in the dirt before lurching to its feet and shaking, its entire body caught up in the sheer joy of the motion.

" _Now she's filthy, Papa. It's going to take hours to get her clean. Can't I just give her a bath?"_

The wind tore the moment loose, sending it tumbling back behind the curtain. She breathed for long seconds, allowing her current reality to solidify once more. Focusing on what stood in front of her, she reached further through the wire to scratch the eager heads, grinning as the goats leaned into it. Sometimes bliss came in the most simple packages. "Someone once told me that animals made the best judges of character," she said. "He told me that they knew how to live simply and honestly … in tune with God."

A soft sigh coloured the air in melancholy hues. "That was a very long time ago. Back, in The Before, where everything shone bright gold and blue, and the whole world smelled like flowers and fresh cut grass." She patted the goats. "However, among those talks, I also recall one about idle hands being evil's plaything, so I'd better get back to work." Pushing up, she turned to look out across the mine, the far walls vanishing into a thick, oily darkness.

"I've got to visit Mordin, then see what Aria meant by 'you can find that thing you lost near the entrance to Kima district'." She clenched her teeth against the pain, then set her back to moving the extra bags of feed into the chamber next to her new, nameless friends. Included in the contents of the pallet Aria sent, she found cheese-making equipment and a refrigerator. She shuddered, suddenly cold, and turned up the heater in her armour. It all amounted to further proof that Aria knew far too much about her life.

If "that thing you lost" meant Garrus—Archangel—Aria knew far more than just what L'oeuf had been up to since her arrival on Omega. She set up the fridge next to her bed, wiring it into the makeshift electrical box she'd hooked into the station's power grid. Coming through the transition with her engineering skills intact had its perks.

"If Garrus is an archangel," she asked Droney as it hovered nearby, shining light on her work, "what do you suppose Aria is? The voice of temptation trying to steer me onto the path toward the dark and the fire?" She sat on her bed, her hands clasped weakly between her knees. "There's so many people here." Looking up into the blue-white light, she stared until dots formed, blinding her.

Unlike the gangs, which she considered the forces of chaos, Aria kept order … well, at least a cursory sort of order.

After considering Aria's role for a few more seconds, she shrugged. "Everywhere needs someone to run the show, I guess … sort the wheat from the chaff." A slow smile spread over her face. "Maybe she's in charge of making sure I stick to the path, and that's why she sent all this stuff."

Returning to the main chamber, she dug back into the pallet, discovering extra mineral and roughage blocks. Then, at the bottom, she found a small wooden box. She knew it the moment she saw it, her heart stopping dead in her chest. She froze, not even breathing for long enough that dizziness dropped her to her knees on the polymer slats. Trembling fingers reached out, her fingertips brushing the walnut-stained carving of two horses galloping in front of mountains.

_Colourful paper flew everywhere, torn by small, excited hands. "Oh wow. Oh, Papa! It's so beautiful! Thank you." Whip-thin arms flung themselves around a neck as thick and sturdy as the birch trees that grew along the creek._

" _Happy birthday, Kitten." Thick whiskers brushed her cheek and massive arms wrapped around her, lifting her feet off the ground in a bear hug. "I hope you like it."_

" _Like it?" Bright giggles answered that. "I love it." She pulled away just far enough to give him a suspicious, but teasing stare. "This is what kept going under your chair when I came in the room, isn't it? You've been carving it all these months."_

_He just gave her a whiskery kiss and shrugged._

Fingers shaking so hard she struggled to open the clasp, she lifted the lid. Pictures filled the inside: real, paper-printed photos. On the very top of the pile, a cherub-faced, red-headed child sat on a broad, muscled set of shoulders, one hand raised above her head … a gesture of joy and celebration … the other resting on the top of her father's head.

No! She scooped the entire sheaf of pictures from the inside of the box and stuffed them into her armour. They were the past. They belonged behind her. She checked the gates on the goats' and Harold's enclosures, then climbed into the service ducts. The light lay ahead and ahead meant getting on with her day. Mordin's clinic, then Kima District.

Mordin's clinic, then Kima District. Mordin's clinic, then Kima District.

* * *

"Hey, L'oeuf," Daniel called. "Going to use the shower first?" When she just walked past him toward the shower/decon room, he nodded. "He marked the setting he wants you to use for the heat." He paused, no doubt waiting for her to answer. "He said not to go over it. It's too stressful on your system, and it's ridiculous to torture yourself."

She just lifted her hand to palm the door control.

"His words, not mine, so you might want to listen," he called after her.

Mordin opened the door ten minutes later, as always. "Enough. Turn water off and dress."

She shut off the water and turned to face him. Crossing her arms under her breasts, she cocked a hip and raised her eyebrows at the cotton jumpsuit in his hand. "What? No hospital gown this time?"

"Of course. Can't dress wounds through material." He hung the jumpsuit next to the gown and robe already on the hook. "This more comfortable under armour than shorts and t-shirt." The door shut before she could thank him, his quick steps moving away.

She dressed, a sigh of relief greeting the gown's soft material against her battered body. Despite the fact she'd never admit it to him in a thousand years, she enjoyed her visits to Mordin's clinic. They provided a chance to get clean and wear soft things. Closing her eyes, she stroked her hands over her stomach, savouring the worn _tussat_ fabric. The clinic amounted to the most comfort she experienced in her days.

She slipped her feet into the slippers and padded her way over to the second room. A salarian lay in the other bed, his beigey-yellow skin mottled with green and black bruising that highlighted some wicked looking cuts and abrasions. She gave him her best comforting smile when he snatched at his blankets, yanking them up under his chin.

"Hello. My name is L'oeuf." She climbed up onto the other bed and laid down.

"Erash," he replied.

She fluffed the pillow under her head, then craned around to meet his wary stare. "Pleased to meet you, Erash. Forgive me for saying so, but you look like a great many people beat you to death."

He grunted and nodded, but the green eyes that met hers held no humour or contempt or even anger. All she saw there was resignation. "Eclipse did their best," he said, his voice much lower, softer, and slower than Mordin's. "If Archangel hadn't come along, they would have succeeded."

A smile greeted the mention of Archangel, but before she could reply, Mordin appeared at her side.

"Running scans. Don't move," the doctor ordered. He activated the bed and then bustled over to his other patient.

"When can I leave, Doctor Solus?" the salarian asked. "If I stay here too long, Eclipse will find me." She heard him moving, trying to get up most likely, but then Mordin made his signature tutting sound and the movement stopped.

"Eclipse tortured you for days when you interfered with business," the doctor said. "Will be nothing to what happens if you interfere with mine. Lie still. Watch mindless vids. Heal."

She grinned and shook her head, making a mental note not to mess with Mordin.

Her scans complete, wounds treated, and pain medication onboard, Shepard sat up, moving to hop down and dress. Mordin blocked her. "Asari commando came in yesterday. Sucking chest wound. Didn't respond to treatment. Asari lungs ... delicate, temperamental." Shaking his head, he tutted to himself again then spun and hurried over to a table, returning with a set of light, leather commando armour. "Kept this. Repaired. More comfortable, less taxing than Blue Suns armour."

She took it from him, mouth hanging open with surprise and shock. "Wow, thanks, Doc. But ..."

"Better suited to crawling through ducts. Can always paint giant egg on chest," he deadpanned.

She grinned and hopped down. "I'll keep that in mind." She held it up and nodded. He was right: it would be a lot more comfortable and easy to move around in. It might be just the thing for her more covert missions. "Yeah, thanks, Doc. This'll be great." She hurried to the shower to dress, borrowing a duffel from Daniel to carry her Blue Suns armour back to the mine.

When she lifted the chest piece, the pictures all fell out of the lining, scattering across the floor. She gathered them up, staring at the one on top. Her worst day. That one needed to go away. That day …. She swallowed hard and buried it in the middle of the stack, then she took a deep, shaky breath. She didn't know what to do with Aria's taunt—or hint—quite yet, but throwing them away seemed altogether too final.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I know I need to leave the past behind, but …." She shoved them into a sealed pocket in the leathers.

Hurrying back into the other room, she dumped the usual credits on Mordin's desk, then hefted the duffel. "Hope you're feeling better soon," she said, looking over at the wounded salarian. "Be careful, this can be a dangerous place. A lot of these people work for the darkness."

He nodded. "This'll teach me to try to do the right thing and stand up to the gangs." He pulled the blankets up tight to his face again, as if they could form armour. "Don't worry, I just want to get as far away from this damned station as I can."

Hearing that, she hesitated. He didn't know. He didn't understand the rules yet.

She closed her eyes. _Should I tell him? Am I allowed?_ Nothing answered … no booming voice or striking lightning warned her away, so she walked over to his bed.

Perching on the edge of the chair she dove into her new armour, pulling out the small sheaf of images. "I know why we're here, my friend," she whispered, leaning down a little so only he would hear. The walls had ears. So many ears and eyes. "Mordin says you tried to stop the Eclipse, and they tortured you."

"Something like that." He rolled over to show a little more of his back, wincing away from her. "Archangel got there in time. He saved me, had his people bring me here."

She grinned, a thrill of affection and devotion warming her as she flipped through the tattered paper, searching for the image she'd just hidden away. "That's his job. That's their purpose ... the whole reason archangels exist. They're the warriors for the light. They fight the darkness and help us find our way forward."

Finally finding the picture she wanted, she pulled it out of the deck. The rest, she shoved back into her armour even as she leaned over him to place the picture in his line of sight. "This is why I'm here," she said, nodding when the large, gold-green eyes flicked to glance at her then to the picture. "This was my worst day." Nodding to herself, she settled back in the chair, her eyes fixed to the image of her squad, all lounging on the Alliance cruiser prior to deploying.

The salarian rolled back around a little. "I'm sorry to hear that." When she looked up and met his eyes, he gave her a nervous smile. The kindness in his gaze smashed a wrecking ball through the dam holding the memory at bay, and the agony … the crushing sorrow and guilt and horror poured through.

She sniffed as the flood broke loose. Eyes, still swollen and raw from her early morning trauma, stung as tears washed along her lids before dripping down her cheeks. They ran into all the crevices, salty torment on open meat, the sealant never quite effective enough. The earlier deluge of snot answered the curtain call, rolling in to fill her sinuses, as intractable as the tide. She swiped at her cheeks and sniffed back the creek flowing from her nose.

"This picture was taken before, of course. Before the blood and death. The screaming … God, the terrible screaming, and the fire and the blood. So much blood in the dark. Flashes and explosions, grenades and rockets lighting up the black. Dead. Everywhere dead, and not just the bad guys … the enemy, but also my people and civilians. So many civilians strewn like dead leaves. Dead leaves in November ... lost. So lost."

The salarian mumbled something. She didn't make it out, but she heard the alarm … the fear in his tone and reined in her runaway words. She leaned in close to his ear, her mouth slick and her voice thick with phlegm, and pointed to one young, fresh face second from the left. "Brigsbury. He was the only other one who made it out. There were just so many of them." She swiped at her face, her hand leaving a cooling streak of tears and snot across her cheek. "So many of them, and not enough of us."

The salarian made a rough sound in his throat. "There's never enough of us and always too many of them." He pointed to her. "That's you under all that armour?"

"Yeah." She nodded, but without pride or even nostalgia. "I'd been in charge of ops before, but never anything like that." Sniffing, she emptied her head into her throat and swallowed, not missing the disgust that contorted his face. Heat flushed up her neck and cheeks. "Sorry."

She traced a finger across the pale, freckled cheek in the photo. "Hard to believe that they called that wide-eyed kid a butcher." The soft mewl that followed felt like a razor blade coming out. She lunged forward, gripping his hospital gown in her fists. He let out a strangled shriek and jumped under her hands, disgust turning to terror.

"Sorry." She snatched her hands back, then smoothed out the fabric. Her stare clung to the material as she patted the wrinkles from it. So soft. "They called me a butcher."

" _No! Come on, baby. Come back for me." Tears blind her, searing hot on her face but cold when they drip down onto her hands. She pushes down on the tiny, flannel-nightshirt-covered chest. "Come on, little one," she calls, then bends down, blocking the child's almost-flat nose as she breathes into the open mouth. She checks for a pulse, for respiration._

" _She's gone, LT." Hands grab at her vest, trying to pull her away. "Come on, the bastards are regrouping down the street."_

" _No!" Throwing her attacker off, she bends over the child once more, breathing into the mouth, pressing down on the chest, trying to ignore the blood that soaks her hands. "Come on, baby. Come on."_

_Wrong place, wrong time, they call it. Not her fault. Unavoidable civilian casualty. When they finally pull her off and shove her gun back into her slippery, crimson hands, a switch flips. The rest is history._

"They sent me there, told me to make sure that the bastards never forgot what they'd done to us … to put the fear of God into them so that the rest of the Alliance's holdings would be safe." She patted the salarian's shoulder and leaned back, meeting his terrified stare. "They told me exactly that, you know?" She nodded, eyes wide, brows lifted, pleading for his understanding. "Put the fear of God into them." Reaching down between her thighs, she grabbed the chair's seat and pulled it closer. "Then they called me a butcher."

A white scrap of cloth appeared in front of her face, startling her. She jumped back, tipping her chair backwards. The salarian lunged toward her that time, grabbing her arm and yanking her back. She grinned despite the mewl of agony that answered the tearing skin and opening wounds. Hand clapped over her heavily pounding heart, she concentrated on breathing until the dizziness passed.

"Thanks. Whew, that was close," she said then turned to Mordin, her grateful smile melting into a scolding frown. "You nearly scared me to death," she said, breathless. "What would you have done if I'd hit my head?"

The scientist chuffed a little in his throat. "Kept you unconscious and repaired your injuries." He stabbed the cloth at her again. "Apologies. Just meant to offer means of absorbing excess bodily secretions. Other means … disturbing and likely to lead to bleeding mucosa." He leaned in to take a closer look. "Too late."

She blew her nose and wiped her face, fighting back the tears. Wallowing in the past did her no good. "That day is why I'm here. I have to right all those wrongs." She waggled her head. "I started before I came here, and must have done enough to convince the powers that be that I'm worth a chance … that I can earn my way to the light."

Smiling, she patted Erash's arm. "You proved to them that you are too. That's why you're here … to keep fighting for good. To do the right thing and protect those who can't protect themselves." She glanced at the picture again, then shoved it in with the others. "Archangel will show you the path forward, and if you keep fighting for the light, one day, you'll be able to leave."

She patted him again, her smile beatific. "One day, you'll be allowed into paradise."

* * *

Kima District stood mostly abandoned. As one of the most outlying districts, it didn't boast protection from Aria or any of the gangs. As much as people bowed beneath the weight of the protection fees, living in an uncontrolled part of the station practically begged for a quick, painful death. Perfect place for an archangel to make his home, however.

Three hours after leaving Mordin's, she set down her duffel at a junction in the vents before heading off toward Kima's entrance. Most of the districts just had one way in and out … at least for foot traffic. They also boasted a lot of bridges, bottlenecking traffic further and limiting movement. It worked for her. All she needed to do was sit at the entrance and wait. Luckily, she'd stopped for a pizza on the way in. She could wait.

It only took two slices and a soda before the big, hungry fellow and another human came along. They approached carefully, a smile greeting the precautions they took to make sure they hadn't been followed. Good. Cautious meant that Archangel had chosen his people well. She followed, needing to make some risky decisions when she lost sight of them, but it paid off when she ended up facing a long bridge. The building on the other side was most definitely occupied and well defended.

Archangel knew how to pick a lair. It took her nearly two hours to find a way in that didn't expose her to the sentries' eyes or ears. Omega's night had fallen, heavy and silent before she hunkered down inside a vent, a familiar turian sleeping on the other side. An Archangel.

For a long time she just watched him sleep, a little surprised that an archangel needed to sleep, frankly. She suspected it might be a trap or a lure to pull in his enemies. Did she dare get closer? Did she dare confirm her senses? After another twenty minutes, she pulled a tube of gun oil from her belt and rubbed it along the vent's seams and hinges. She waited, eyes pressed closed, listening to the snore rolling like thunder on the other side. It never waivered.

" _Vakarian!" Wrex's bellow precedes him across the galley. "You need to soundproof the Mako."_

_The turian lifts a sleepy head from where it rests on his hand while he picks at his breakfast. "Why? Have we gotten complaints about our terrified shrieking disrupting the local flora when Shepard drives?"_

_The krogan's charge ends in a sliding stop and a confused frown. "No … well, yes, probably, but if your snoring keeps me awake another night, it's either line the Mako with soundproofing or I wrap your head in it."_

" _Me? Your corner of the cargo bay sounds like there's a thresher maw with a head cold behind those crates."_

She pushed the memory away, filing it in the special box, saving it for those nights when the dreams inflicted the worst torment. It was a beautiful memory, but it didn't belong there in Omega's greasy shadows. Garrus didn't sleep below her. No, somewhere Garrus was becoming a Spectre, carrying on the fight, preparing the galaxy for the Reapers.

Abandoning her pizza, she pushed open the vent, pausing after every sound. Who knew how deeply Archangels slept?

_Why me? What did I ever do to earn an archangel as my guide?_

The metal grate swung open without waking the turian, and after another pause, she slipped down, landing silently on the back of the couch. After a second's hesitation to be sure that he remained asleep, she stepped down, moving on slippered toes.

_I'll return them to Mordin next time._

She turned to look at the bed, the ache in her chest easing at the beauty of him. An angel truly, he slept on his side, head and neck half-buried in pillows, his features relaxed and open. He twitched, his mandible flicking.

"Are you dreaming, Archangel?" she whispered, her voice a musical breath floating amidst the waves of snoring and the life moving on the other side of the door. Tiptoeing over to crouch next to him, she watched him dream, his eyes moving behind closed lids, his breath suddenly shallow and quick. "What do angels dream about?"

Before she even realized she intended to do anything, she reached out, feather-soft fingers caressing his fringe. "Surely angels must only have happy dreams." His breathing slowed a little as he continued to dream, and hers calmed to match. "That's better."

Watching him, she breathed in his scent. The powers that be had done an excellent job replicating Garrus. He even smelled the same … all hints of cinnamon and cloves mingled with an earthiness that never failed to calm and anchor her. Sometimes, during the hunt for Saren, she laid under the Mako, eyes closed, breathing in that scent as they repaired the APC … his humour … the envelope of warmth that clung to him …. Well, he formed a bulwark, a tenuous support that kept her from tumbling into the well of fear and responsibility, losing herself in the darkness, where everything turned to screams of madness.

"Thank you," she said, closing her eyes. She leaned in, the fact that he didn't wake cementing her in the truth she'd shared with the salarian. "Guide me to my path, Archangel. Show me how to find the light. It's so very dark and cold here." Pressing her lips tight, she brushed a soft kiss against his brow. She smiled at the smooth warmth of the plate against her skin. It eased the inferno, her entire body on fire with the flames of hell after so many hours without meds. "Everything here hurts. I understand why I need to be punished, I do … but I'm so scared all the time." She swallowed the boulder lodged in her throat and swiped at the tears stinging her cheeks. A bright streak of crimson stained the back of her glove.

"I'm willing to earn my reprieve. I'll do whatever I need to do to even the scales, just … please … show me my way forward to the light." Shifting slightly, shattered glass grinding in her joints, she eased the pressure on her knees. One agony traded for another. "Help me, please ..." She smiled, the memory of those nights under the Mako rising up around her, swaddling her in their warmth. "... like he would've helped me. Hold me up as he would've, because I don't know if I've got the strength to do it myself." Her fingers reached for his face, but she wrestled them down onto the edge of the sheets.

Leaning in, she whispered, "I miss him. I miss him so much, Archangel."

His breathing hitched, a rough, rousing sort of rumble-cough. Time to go. "Please, tell Him or Her or Them that I'm sorry. You know I am, right? Tell them I'm so very sorry for what I've done. I never wanted to be The Butcher."

She stood and jogged to the couch on silent feet. She stepped onto the arm, then the back, pausing there to watch him another second. "Thank you." He shifted, his mouth smacking a little. Time to return to her den, take her meds, and prepare for the next day. The beginning of her path had revealed itself. The rest would become clear.

She jumped, catching the lip of the vent, and pulled herself up. Once inside, she turned back and reached out for the cover, hesitating when she saw a wrinkled scrap of paper on the floor. Had that fallen from her armour? The angel stirred and yawned. Too late to go back. She closed the vent and moved silently back into Omega's bowels … moving from the sweet scented peace and beauty of that room, back into the shadows where she belonged.

Well ... after leaving the pizza where the hungry fellow would find it, of course.

* * *

 

(A-N: I can't even express how much I adore the painful, beautiful experience of writing Egg's story. She completes me. :D I hope you enjoy her as well. Thanks so much for your support of this story. So so much appreciated.)


	6. Chapter Six: The Smell of Blood in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus bolted upright in his bed. The pounding in his chest rang through his skull. That smell. Spirits, that smell. "Shepard?"
> 
> Garrus shook his head, willing the nightmare residue to vanish but it refused to fade. Breathing in deeply only strengthened the scent. He rolled it around on his tongue, everything inside of him screamed reality. After everything they'd been through together, the scent was as familiar as his own; Shepard's blood. How? Where? Too close. The smell came from somewhere close, close enough to be smeared on his own hands.

**Patrem** \- Father (Familiar form **Pari** equivalent to dad)

**Matrula** \- Mother (Familiar form **Mari** equivalent to mom)

**Quiritus** \- Applies to both genders equally. Equivalent to people or ladies and gentlemen.

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Precor** \- Damned. Cursed.

**Licisin** \- Equivalent of sons of bitches

**Mabul** \- The turian equivalent of the expletive 'fuck'.

**Written by MosaicCreme**

_Garrus slams the safety harness into place over Joker's chest. The pilot hisses in pain, undoubtedly from countless fractures to his fragile bones from Garrus and Shepard dragging him to the escape pods._

_Garrus spins back to the hatch, his hand already reaching out to help Shepard inside. A sudden blast rocks the ship, nearly taking Garrus off his feet. He gasps as her grip slips, the ground drops out from under her, sending her spinning out. "Shepard! No!"_

_Her hands scramble to find purchase. Her palm slams into the frame, fingers gripping tightly as her body floats in the nothingness, that frame her only anchor. Spirits, no!_

" _I'm sorry, Garrus." She lets go, banging her fist into the escape pod's ejection control, sacrificing herself to save him. Horror twists like a knife in his gut as she is swept away into the abyss._

_Garrus slams his fist into the door control, but it refuses to budge, the emergency evacuation procedure already in place._

_Joker pulls at his restraints behind Garrus. "What are you doing?! Open the door! We can't leave her. Commander! Commander!"_

" _Turn your radio off, Garrus." Shepard's static-filled voice sounds tinny in his helmet._

_He ignores her words. What is she doing? Why is she doing this to him? There's still time. He can save her. He will save her. If he can just get the_ precor _door open._

_He pulls and pushes, fighting with the manual release. Joker screams frantically behind him. The pod breaks free, the distance between them and Shepard increasing at an alarming rate. His heart feels like it's going to rip it's way out of his chest. She's getting too far away. He needs to get to her, to save her. He can't leave her behind._

_He can just barely still see her; a suit of armor shrinking in the distance. Another beam rips through the_ Normandy's _corpse, sending shrapnel spinning out to batter that beautiful human he never had the chance …. He hears her gasp, first in pain, and then with desperation as she fights for air. The terrible, terrible hissing that can mean only one thing tells him why._

_She's gone now, too far away for his eyes or even his visor to pick out in the mass field of debris. She's choking, the strangled sound the last thing he hears before her comm goes silent._

_Garrus slumps to his knees, fists bashing uselessly at the hatch. He hears a terrible keening, an agonized wail he thinks surely must be coming from Joker until he feels the rumble in his own chest._

_He wants to yell at Joker; wants to wrap his talons around him and shake him until every last one of his bones snap. This is his fault. If he hadn't been too stubborn to leave the cockpit when Shepard gave the evacuation order … if he hadn't forced them to come and get him … spirits, Shepard._

" _You have to strap in, Garrus." Joker's ragged voice breaks through the din in Garrus' head. "You have to … you have to strap in, the pod doesn't have the same inertia dampening, we're … ."_

Garrus bolted upright in his bed. The pounding in his chest rang through his skull. That smell. Spirits, that smell. "Shepard?"

Garrus shook his head, willing the nightmare residue to vanish but it refused to fade. Breathing in deeply only strengthened the scent. He rolled it around on his tongue, everything inside of him screamed reality. After everything they'd been through together, the scent was as familiar as his own; Shepard's blood. How? Where? Too close. The smell came from somewhere close, close enough to be smeared on his own hands.

He looked at his hands, turning them over to check both sides. Phantom bloodstains danced before his eyes, but they were just that; phantoms from another time and place. He checked his chest before pushing back the sheets, looking everywhere until his eyes landed on the stain smeared on the bed.

He reached out with a trembling hand, his visor identifying the mark as human blood. He traced it with a talon, noting it had soaked through the sheet before drying. Garrus swung his legs over the edge, careful of where he set his feet, and climbed out of bed. Squatting next to the bloodstain, his face centimeters away he pulled at the scent. Cutting off the keen rising in his chest before he could alert his squad in the next room, Garrus steeled himself and stood.

Mandibles tight against his jaw, brow plates dipping low, talons tapping out the rhythm of his still pounding heart against his thigh, he closed his eyes and took steadying breaths. Forcing the loose gears in his head to stop spinning out of control, he pushed them back into place. He needed order.

_Okay, what do we know? We know there's blood, fresh enough to have soaked into the sheets before drying. We know the blood is Shepard's. No. Shepard is dead. So what does that mean? Either it's not Shepard's blood, or it's not fresh. Sure as hell smells like Shepard's blood. I couldn't forget her scent if I tried._

_Okay, so, if it's Shepard's blood, and if it couldn't have come from Shepard herself, how did it get there? I didn't put it there, so someone else must have. How? Blood samples? Emergency stock? It could have been old, scraped off of armor recovered from the_ Normandy, _and reconstituted. Aria._

_She's got Shepard's rifle, what else does she have?_

Garrus opened his eyes, calm and calculating as he looked over the room. His visor feeding him information as he went. It highlighted oil residue and more blood around the vent. A stray hair fluttered in the air moving through the shaft.

_Is that how she got in here? No, it wasn't Aria. She wouldn't have come herself. She'd have sent someone, one of her whipping boys. But why? What's her game? The rifle I get, she wanted me off balance, but planting Shepard's blood and probably her hair in my room?_

_I need evidence bags. I've got to collect all of this. Take it to Dr. Solus, he'll be able to tell me something._

"Hmmm. Don't have evidence bags. No swabs either." Garrus glanced around, his eyes landing on a crumpled bag discarded in the corner next to his waste basket, an idea forming.

(Artwork by: [hoxadrine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hoxadrine/pseuds/hoxadrine))

* * *

"Well?" Garrus leaned against the doorframe, watching the salarian doctor adjust his microscope. Agitation strained his throat, creeping into his voice.

Dr. Solus kept his eyes pressed to the piece of equipment, tutting. "Patience. Science not to be rushed. Want accurate results, not fast answers. Fast answers could be wrong." Mordin moved back to the ragged square of Garrus' gunmetal gray bedsheet, spraying a swab with something from a small bottle before rolling the swab across the fabric. "Could go talk to patient brought in yesterday while waiting. Said you saved his life."

"Is that your way of telling me to leave you alone, Doctor?" Garrus fluttered his mandibles, his smile hidden by his helmet.

Dr. Solus looked up, blinking his bulbous eyes. "Yes."

Garrus pushed away from the wall, chuffing. "Has he said much?"

Dr. Solus tutted again. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Right." Garrus headed to the back room of the clinic where hospital beds lined the wall, separated by curtain partitions. He glanced over his shoulder at the doctor who pointed to the curtain on Garrus' left.

Garrus pulled the curtain aside, the salarian from the day before blinking up at him with wide, startled eyes. "Erash, right?"

Erash shifted in the bed, pulling himself upright. Garrus knew the look of a startled suspect about to bolt all too well and held his palms up. "Relax, I'm not here to hurt you. Your story checked out."

"Here to check up on me?" Erash eased back against the pillows.

Garrus grabbed a chair from an empty nearby desk and pulled it over. Sitting, he propped his feet up on Erash's bed. The salarian looked better than he had yesterday, but it would be days still before he'd be recovered enough to leave the clinic. The Eclipse had really done a number on him. "Yeah. You were telling the truth, so I figured it's worth a conversation." Garrus crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing into the chair. "And I don't suppose you'd get many friendly visitors while you're here."

Erash snorted. "So far just one overly-friendly visitor."

"Overly friendly?" Garrus glanced back over at the doctor busy running his tests, silently willing him to hurry. "What a relative or something?" He draped one ankle over the other and began rocking his feet back and forth.

"No, I've never seen her before in my life. She came in to see the doctor yesterday and just started talking. She said her name's L'oeuf." Erash shifted, pushing himself up and adjusting his pillows, trying to find a comfortable position.

Garrus' brow plates quirked, and his feet stopped rocking. "L'oeuf?" _Butler's Pizza Angel was here? Makes sense if she's as much of a wreck as Zullius described her._ "Kind of an odd name, isn't it?"

Erash lifted a shoulder and winced, letting it drop. "She's kind of an odd person."

_Come on Erash, don't make me get you all riled up to talk. Doc won't like it._

Garrus resumed the gentle rocking of his feet, affecting an air of nonchalance despite the tension in his neck and shoulders. "What's so odd about her?"

Erash blinked his over-sized eyes and fiddled with the sheets around his waist. "Well, for one, I think she's delusional. She seems to think that you're an actual archangel. She told me you were a warrior of the light, and you would lead us out of the darkness."

"Lead you out of the darkness? What, is she in some kind of trouble?" Garrus' feet froze again, his mandibles fluttering.

_Was the pizza some kind of message? A cry for help?_

"Why, are you going to try and save her?" Erash asked.

Garrus dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "If she needs help, yeah. It's what I do, right?"

"I think the only help she needs is psychiatric, and maybe a good surgeon. She's an Alliance soldier. Or at least she was." Erash waved a hand dismissively. "She showed me a picture of her and her team before her injuries. She kept talking about death and being called a butcher. If you ask me, she looks like she's the one who got butchered. She seemed pretty tore up over it, though." His lips turned down in disgust. "She cried all over me, her nose running, and she just smeared it all over her face and sucked it down her throat before the doctor gave her a handkerchief." Erash shuddered, oblivious to the wide-eyed stare Garrus' helmet hid.

Garrus' mind raced, a million thoughts snarled and snapped like a pack of angry varren vying for dominance, trying to find their way into a formation that made sense. How could any of it possibly make sense? Erash was talking about Shepard. He _had_ to be talking about Shepard. Alliance soldier. They called her a butcher. The Butcher of Torfan. L'oeuf _was_ Shepard. A chill crept down his spine like the fingers of death reaching out to him from beyond Shepard's empty grave. They never did find her body.

_No! Shepard isn't alive. It's someone else, it has to be. Someone trying to make me think she's Shepard. Someone Aria hired._

"I should—." Garrus winced. "I have to go." He stood up abruptly enough to knock the chair back, wincing again as it clattered to the floor. "Sorry." Garrus righted the chair and took a deep breath before turning back to a startled Erash. "I'll, uh, I'll come back and check on you again." Garrus took a couple of steps toward the door before spinning around to walk backwards. "You did the right thing, Erash. Leaving when—trying to leave when you did. Sending that manifest to your uncle. I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but you did the right thing."

The startled look didn't leave the salarian's face as Garrus backed out of the room, nearly stumbling over a piece of medical equipment along the way. His heart pounded in his chest. Everything seemed excessively bright; excessively loud. If he weren't turian, he'd call it a panic attack, but turians didn't have panic attacks—not even bad turians.

Garrus turned back around to watch his step, his eyes searching the clinic for the doctor. He spotted him off in the corner, looking at a console readout.

Dr. Solus waved Garrus over. "Can tell hair and blood from same person. Human female. Most likely injured, sick, or both. High number of leukocytes found in blood sample. Presence of antibiotics, analgesics. Blood fresh, no signs of recent cryostasis. Not reconstituted."

The varren snarls became howls, the snapping of teeth turning into the rending of flesh. Shepard, alive and on Omega. Injured, lost, scared … delusional. Spirits, Shepard had been there with him, in his room while he slept.

_Why, Shepard? Spirits why didn't you wake me up?_ Mabul _, if I didn't drink so much last night there's no way I would have slept through her being there. Right there! Right next to me. So close I could reach out and touch her._

_How are you alive, Shepard? Where are you? Why'd you leave? Spirits, Shepard, come back to me._

_No, this is crazy. There has to be an explanation. A reasonable, logical explanation. Still … ._

"Don't suppose you were able to match it to anyone you've seen in the clinic?" Garrus put his palms on the table trying to steady himself, choking on the stench of his own wild fear.

"If found match, wouldn't be able to tell you." Dr. Solus shook his head resolutely. "Would break confidentiality of patient. Patient trust in doctor important, sacred. Wouldn't jeopardize that."

Garrus had a momentary urge to throttle the salarian and demand that he check his files for a match. He needed to know if this L'oeuf matched the sample. It couldn't be true; it couldn't be Shepard. Could it? He'd watched her get spaced; heard her take her last breath. How could this be possible?

If Dr. Solus would just tell him that it wasn't really Shepard, that the sample belonged to some other patient of his, things would make sense again and the howling would stop. Granted that sense would be that Garrus had none of his own left. He was now smelling Shepard in blood that wasn't hers.

Shepard couldn't be alive, and she couldn't have been in his room leaving smears of blood and hair behind while he slept. Because if Shepard were alive, and if she were that close to him … What? She would have woken him up, surely. If Shepard had come to him she wouldn't have left him thinking she was dead. She just wouldn't have.

Garrus nodded his head, not trusting himself to not growl at the doctor in all of his confusion and frustration. His hands trembled as he picked up the torn bedsheet fragment, the obvious finger pattern to the smear having left no prints on the porous fabric, but his mind insisted that it knew the fingers that left those marks all the same. He'd spent hours trying to figure out how he would fit those five little fingers into his if he ever got up the nerve to take her hand.

Dr. Solus took pity on him, gently taking the piece of cloth from Garrus' hands, folding it and sliding it back into the used bag just the way Garrus' had brought it to him. He slid the single strand of hair into a small plastic baggie and sealed it before putting it in the bag along with the photo of a red-headed human child—who looked an awful lot like Shepard, too much so to be a coincidence—sitting on a man's shoulders. Dr. Solus held up the scrap of paper Garrus had used to wipe up some of the oil residue. The same kind of oil he used on all of his gear. The same kind of oil Shepard used on all of hers. When Garrus nodded, he put that in a baggie of its own before slipping it into the bag, too.

Garrus clutched the bag against his armored chest and turned to leave, stopping after only a few steps. He made his way back to Dr. Solus, invading the doctor's personal space. The doctor didn't back away, didn't submit an inch of ground. His shaking voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "Just tell me, was it L'oeuf?"

Dr. Solus only blinked his eyes and crossed his arms. Garrus looked down at the table next to them trying to find a way to convince the doctor to tell him what he already knew, but desperately needed to hear someone confirm. He wouldn't be convinced he wasn't going crazy any other way. "Okay. Okay. But if it is, Doc, just do me a favor. If the blood matches L'oeuf—or any of your patients—just do me a favor and tell them … tell her whatever's wrong, whatever she needs, I will help her. Anything. Tell her to come back. Just come back and talk to me."

He pulled himself away from the doctor's side before he lost all control and made a beeline for the door.

* * *

Garrus chuffed and nudged the empty pizza box at Butler's feet, still clutching the bag to his chest. It burned him like hot coals, but he didn't dare put it down. "You went back for more?"

"Hey, boss! Where ya been?" Butler grinned from his spot on the floor, his back pressed against the couch.

Weaver looked up from a datapad. "Not exactly. Tell him where you got the pizza, Butler."

_Shepard. No. L'oeuf._

Butler turned to make a childish face at Weaver, sticking his tongue out at her. Weaver gave him a smug smile and the middle finger. Normally Garrus found their antics amusing, heartwarming even, but at the moment it only served to waste his time and raise his hackles. Garrus chuffed and crossed his arms over the bag, drawing Butler's attention back to him.

"Pizza Angel, boss. It was waiting for me on the coffee table when I woke up." Butler took a huge bite out of the last slice in his hand, barely chewing it before taking another as if he were afraid Garrus would take it from him.

_Pizza Angel Shepard and Archangel Vakarian. Fantastic. I'm losing it. Is this what_ mari's _going through? Can Corpalis Syndrome hit someone at my age?_

Garrus growled, turning his attention to Weaver who looked back at her datapad. "Already did a full sweep, boss. No other surprises left behind as far as we could tell. Though your room is a mess." Weaver looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, nodding when Garrus didn't say anything. "Since you weren't here, I figured you're the one who left it that way. Cameras were tampered with, best we got was a shaky image of a shadowy figure darting through, dropping the box and bolting again."

"Show me." His tone left no room for argument.

Weaver sighed and got to her feet, fiddling with the datapad as she moved to stand next to Garrus. She hit a few more keys before shoving the datapad at Garrus. He pressed play and watched. The moment that distorted, blurred, shadowy image appeared on the screen, Garrus' heart skipped a beat. And then another. And another.

* * *

Garrus sat on the edge of his bed, the contents of the bag spread out next to him. He held the bloodstained scrap in his hands, tracing over the finger shapes with a talon. He could still smell the blood. Shepard's blood. He knew now, with complete conviction; L'oeuf was Shepard and she had been here.

_Shepard._

He choked back a distressed sob, all too aware of his team moving around downstairs and in the next room. He went to see Zullius again, and the eager _torin_ had been more than happy to take Garrus to the back of his restaurant to talk in private. Garrus showed him an old picture of Shepard on his omni-tool, and waited without breathing while Zullius stared at it for long seconds. When Zullius nodded his head and said he'd be willing to bet on his _patrem's_ grave that it was a picture of L'oeuf—without all the scars—Garrus had laughed maniacally. No doubt the crazed mix of pheromones coming off of Garrus did more to worry the other _torin_ than his laughter did.

Zullius pulled out a bottle of turian brandy and two glasses, setting them down in front of Garrus before he left to close the front of the restaurant, telling Garrus the lunch hour rush could wait. By the time he made it back to Garrus, he already worked on his second glass. Zullius poured himself a drink and pulled a stool over next to Garrus. "Tell me about her," he'd said.

And so he did. He spent three hours telling Zullius all about the great Commander Shepard. When finished, Garrus stood on wobbly legs and swore Zullius to secrecy. He told him he couldn't even tell L'oeuf that he knew who she was. If she wasn't using her name, she had a reason. Garrus swayed on his feet as he returned Zullius' turian salute. "When she comes back again, tell her … tell her Archangel says he'd _really_ like to see her. Will you do that for me?"

Zullius chuckled, helping Garrus get his helmet back on and waited with him outside until Butler and Monteague arrived to drag his drunken hide back to the base. They'd dumped him in his room and turned out the light, expecting him to sleep it off even though it was only mid-afternoon. He turned the light right back on before stumbling to his bed and retrieving the bag from under his mattress.

Maybe Garrus would sleep, but at the moment, all he could do was trace his talon over the mark left by Shepard's living hand in Shepard's own, fresh blood and breathe in the scent. He picked up one of the baggies and held it up, mesmerized by the way the light danced off the single red strand before clutching it to his chest along with the ragged piece of cloth. His throat ached from fighting back his sobs, his longing, and the unexpressed emotion he still wasn't ready to completely acknowledge. He reached for the photo, running a talon over the little girl's red hair.

"Is that you, Shepard? With your _pari_?" Garrus whispered, afraid his voice would carry and someone would come to check on him. He didn't want to be bothered. He wasn't ready to share this news with his team. Not yet. Not until he saw her for himself. "Why'd you leave me again? Spirits, I thought you were dead. Everyone thinks you're dead."

The room spun lightly around Garrus, and his eyelids drooped. He let himself collapse on his side, rubbing his face into the pillows. He could smell her on them, too, just faintly. He folded the bloodstained sheet fragment around the baggie holding her hair and tucked it down inside his armor against his chest.

_I need to sleep. We move in on Aria's extremists tonight. Need to be sober to shoot straight. Spirits, working for Aria._

_No, not working for Aria. I'm just doing my job, so what if it benefits Aria in the process? Probably doesn't even matter to her whether we kill them or they kill us. Either way she's got one less problem to worry about._

_Thinning the herd before she sends in her men to pick off the leftovers. Who knows, maybe she's telling the truth._

Garrus chuffed and rubbed his face in the pillows again. Her scent reaching down into the darkest, loneliest parts of himself, soothing him like a warm caress.

_Doesn't matter. Her men show up, we'll take them out, too. All that matters is that Shepard is alive. Spirits, Shepard is alive. Tonight, I kill for Aria. Tomorrow, I find Shepard._

His eyelids fluttered closed again, loud snores filling the room before he was even completely asleep.

* * *

Garrus stared at the orange and black symbol on the back of the white armor below him, confusion and surprise muddling his thoughts. "Cerberus … what the hell is Cerberus doing on Omega?"

Aria's information only identified them as a group of militant extremists. How dealing with this herself would upset the balance of Omega was beyond him, but if these guys were really Cerberus, Garrus would gladly exterminate them for Aria. Shepard would approve, after what they saw of Cerberus while chasing down Saren—after what they did to Admiral Kahoku—Shepard would definitely approve. Maybe after cleaning house, he'd pass the intel on to Kaidan, or maybe just send it to the Council. Anderson would know who in the Alliance to kick it to.

"You know these guys, boss?" Ripper's voice rumbled through the comms.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do, and I'm going to have fun picking them off." Garrus slid back from the skylight, careful to not let his armor scrape and give away his location. "I'm coming down."

Garrus stood up a safe distance from the skylight. He made his way down the ladder and back over to his squad tucked behind crates down the alley. "The roof isn't the best angle and there are too many of them spread throughout the warehouse. We go in as two teams, I'll take the first and go in through the front. Monteague, you take the second and go in through the side entrance."

"What's Cerberus?" Sidonis asked. "And why are we taking them out for Aria. Come on boss, this isn't like you. Since when do we clean house for Aria?"

"We don't clean house for Aria." Garrus turned back to the warehouse. He itched to get inside and spill Cerberus blood. "I have my reasons for agreeing to look into this, and they had nothing to do with making Aria happy." Garrus fluttered his mandibles. "Be glad I did. Tonight, _quiritus_ , you get the pleasure of helping to take out some of the sickest, most twisted _licisin_ I've ever crossed paths with."

"Twisted how?" Butler shifted his grip on his rifle.

"Terrorists, Butler. They're the at-any-costs type. Nothing's off limits to Cerberus." Garrus rolled his shoulders, remembering the release of rachni on the listening outposts. "They'll do anything, hurt anyone, if they think it'll somehow give humans an edge over the rest of the galaxy." His mandibles flared as he thought of the disappointed look on Shepard's face when they found the admiral dead. "Including experimenting on people, turning them into monsters." He cut off a growl before it could rumble through his chest as he thought of the husks and thorian creepers.

Garrus watched as his team shared uncomfortable looks. The humans on his team feeling especially awkward if their nervous scents seeping through his suit's ventilation were any indication.

"I'll spend the rest of the night telling you all about them, if you want. But first, we get in there and do our job." Garrus wasn't one for speeches. That was always Shepard's thing, but he knew his team well enough to know that they could use the morale boost. "These guys aren't mercs, they're going to be better organized, better outfitted, but they're not invincible." Garrus took a moment to meet the eyes of everyone on his team. "Not a one of you is on this team without a reason, not just because of what you've lost but because of what you bring to the table. We go in as a team, work together, watch each other's backs, stick to cover and we'll be the only ones walking back out that door."

Garrus chuffed when raised eyebrows and barely suppressed grins met his attempt to rally his troops. "Alright, alright, you ingrates. Ripper, Weaver, and Melenis with me. The rest of you with Monteague. And Ripper?"

"Yeah?" Ripper pushed his way past Butler and Sidonis to stand in front of Garrus.

"Stick to cover unless I say otherwise. I'm not sending anyone out after you if you can't control yourself." Garrus slapped his palm down on Ripper's shoulder and gave it a shake. "Got me?"

Ripper snarled, but Garrus could see it hid a grin. "I got you, Archangel."

"Good let's move." Garrus turned, leading his team back to the door, waiting for Monteague's signal.

When the signal came, adrenaline already jolted through him as Garrus hit the shutter control and the front door of the warehouse rolled open. As expected, it alerted the guards and they sounded the alarm. Garrus made no attempt to keep the handful of guards stationed near the door from calling out to the others, that's what he wanted. He wanted them all focused on him at the front and not on Monteague at the side.

Garrus pressed his back to the wall outside of the warehouse. He peered around the edge and locked on to a target before stepping out long enough to fill the assault trooper with holes. The thrill of the hunt stilled his mind where nothing else could. Melenis threw out a Singularity, helping to keep the troops occupied while Ripper and Weaver pushed forward. Once Ripper and Weaver were in place behind stacks of crates, they provided covering fire for Melenis and Garrus to move in.

Garrus could hear Monteague giving orders to his team as they entered through the side door. By the sounds of things, they entered with little resistance and were making their way toward the mainroom. He knew that they had arrived amidst the sounds of screams and gunfire when troops started spontaneously catching fire. He gave the order for his team to push forward to the next covered area.

A dangerous play for both sides, if there were more assault troopers further back in the warehouse—and Garrus suspected there were—it left Monteague and his team sandwiched between enemy forces—but it also left the assault troopers in front of him in the same position. One thing Garrus remembered about Cerberus was that they liked to set up ambushes and hold their ground. They'd rather wait for their enemies to come to them when fighting in closed quarters with limited numbers. Unless they had a secondary base set up nearby and could get drop shuttles in, he bet on those in the back staying in the back. Chances were, they had orders to protect someone or something back there, and they weren't going to abandon post to join the fray.

With just a few Cerberus troops left in the mainroom, Garrus let Ripper off his leash. The krogan bellowed and charged, slamming into the nearest trooper, ripping through him like a rabid varren—or just a relatively angry krogan. Ripper's second target had sense enough to try to run, but didn't look where he was going and ran right into a wall of Butler. Garrus almost felt bad for the assault trooper. Almost.

When the last of Cerberus in the mainroom fell to the ground, screaming in agony, consumed by flames courtesy of Mierin, Garrus called the two teams together to take a headcount and treat injuries before moving toward the back of the warehouse. Monteague split his team to take flank at either side of the door while Garrus' team took point, ducking low behind a metal barricade Cerberus had been nice enough to supply for them. When he gave the order, Krul hacked through the door before darting back to cover. The door rolled up and bullets started flying before it reached the top.

Garrus switched to his sniper rifle, resting it on the top of the barricade. Cerberus held it's position beyond the door, and his squad provided him enough covering fire up front to give him the chance to start picking off some of the troops in the back. With his scope up, he could see men and women in labcoats scurrying around the back, working fervently at terminals—no doubt trying to get rid of the evidence of their heinous crimes—whatever they were this time. Garrus wasn't fond of shooting unarmed and unarmored civilians, but when it came to Cerberus, he had no qualms. He set his crosshairs on the back of a brunette woman's head and pulled the trigger before moving on to the next.

_Like Aria said, there aren't any innocent bystanders here._

As the crowd began to thin, Garrus gave the order for the squad to move in. He held his position a few minutes longer, sniping at researchers and troopers while the rest of the group got past the door and into cover. Switching back to his assault rifle, he made his way through the door and took up position next to Mierin. Using Ripper and Butler to flush out troops hiding behind crates, and Melenis' biotics to keep as many of them off of their feet as she could, Garrus and the others focused on picking their targets and filling them full of holes.

Long minutes passed without any return fire. Garrus signaled to Sidonis to go right while he went left. The two of them moved low to the ground from cover to cover, scouting out the rest of the facility and checking all of the hiding places. Near the back of the warehouse, Garrus caught a whiff of the fresh, sour scent of human fear. He cocked his head to the side, straining to hear. The sound of a shoe scraping across the floor gave her position away just as easily as if he had trailed her by her scent.

A Cerberus operative in a labcoat huddled behind one of the terminals at the side of the room. Garrus aimed his assault rifle at her and ordered her out of cover. Instead, a cold determination filled her eyes as she lifted a pistol to her own head and pulled the trigger. His jaw dropped as blood and brain splattered against his legs and torso. The woman slumped to the side, sliding slowly down the back of the terminal until she hit the ground with a soft, wet thud.

"Spirits." Garrus shook his head, leaving the corpse so he could finish clearing the warehouse.

Sidonis flushed out two more troopers hiding in the back, who were then quickly put down by his squad. Garrus called the all clear. Krul, Meirin, and Monteague got to work on the terminals in the room, trying to recover what they could while he and the others searched the area. Everyone else looked for loot, weapons, ammo, armor, credits, Medi-gel—whatever they could take. Garrus was only interested in one thing: finding out what the hell Cerberus was doing in his backyard.

He'd just given up on finding any horribly mutilated human experiments tucked back in the corners when Krul called out to him over the comm. "Boss, you're going to want to see this."

Garrus turned and jogged back to Krul's side, his eyes scanning the screen in front of him.

" _Operation Recover Project Lazarus"_

" _Subject's health is unstable. A swift recovery is necessary to ensure sustainability. Analysis of project data concludes that if the subject is not recovered within the next few weeks, she will likely expire. When found, the subject will require immediate medical attention from Operative Lawson. Orders are to find and recover the subject with as little force as is necessary to subdue. The subject should be considered highly dangerous, and is likely armed. The subject is to be brought in alive, at all costs."_

"There's a dossier here, boss." Krul hit a few keys on the terminal and an image popped up on the screen that sent Garrus' head spinning.

" _Commander Jane Marie Shepard, Systems Alliance and Council Spectre."_


	7. Chapter Seven: Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I almost didn't make it back here." A blood-clotted sigh of relief dripped from between her lips. She swiped the red away. "Went way too long without my meds, passed out and nearly choked on a throatful of dust, but I saw him." A beatific smile blossomed on her face, growing out of the fertile soil of breathing Archangel's air. "I touched him, and he's real."

**Written by: MizDirected**

**Torin:** Male turian of the age of majority (15)

"Hello my beauties." She crouched at the gate, gloved fingers reaching through the wire mesh. "I almost didn't make it back here." A blood-clotted sigh of relief dripped from between her lips. She swiped the red away. "Went way too long without my meds, passed out and nearly choked on a throatful of dust, but I saw him." A beatific smile blossomed on her face, growing out of the fertile soil of breathing Archangel's air. "I touched him, and he's real."

She rubbed her lips together, clearing away the faint slickness. "He's real and so beautiful. I watched him sleep—you know, I didn't realize that archangels slept, but I guess they need rest too." She sniffed, her smile tipping a little, shy and crooked, as she tickled the does' noses. "And … oh, I wish I'd been brave that night after Virmire, ladies. It felt wrong … selfish after losing Ash, but I wanted to kiss him, to just lean into the solace of those arms—you know just by watching him move how strong they are—and breathe him in. He always smelled so good."

A brushfire flared up her neck, setting her cheeks aflame. "Especially after we got back from missions, and he took off his armour … and his hide was still heated." Her eyes narrowed as the memory of those moments rose heady and thick around her, a luxuriant dawn fog rolling in, the sun gleaming behind it. One of her new friends bleated softly, pulling her back to Omega and the present as the sweet little nose nudged her through the wire. "What?" Throwing her hands up, she chuckled, meeting the brown doe's eyes. "I'm totally willing to admit it: I like a guy who smells like a guy. A little musk never killed anyone."

The cocoa powder-coloured doe bleated again and reared up, her shaggy-fringed hooves braced against the wire. After letting the soft lips nuzzle and nibble at her gloves for a moment, she shook her head. "You two need names." She pursed her lips, tugging them off to one side as she considered her options.

"Sorry for this, because it's not overly original for someone your colour, but you are definitely Coco." Just past Coco, the little black and white splashed in the water trough, evidently searching for the really good water hiding under the inferior surface water. "You remind me of my pony when I was a little girl, so you're going to be Splash." She grinned. "Yeah, Splash and Coco. Perfect, just like the two of you."

The smile transformed into a groan as she stood, using the gate to climb hand over hand into an upright position. "It's been a heck of a day, guys, let me tell you. I'll top up your roughage bin and tell you all about it."

She scraped out the scraps left in their feed bins, tossing the dregs into the garden—Harold could mulch it in as he cruised through the soil—then went back to feeding her less acid-spitty roommates. The roughage came in tiny cubes that expanded by about twenty-five times into a damp, perfectly nutritionally balanced, hay-ish food stuff when soaked in water. As she worked, she noticed her breath sending little clouds of steam drifting through the air. An Omega cold-front moving in. They must be opening new tunnels in the mines.

The banks of lighting generally kept the place fairly warm, a small heater in her chamber adding that little bit extra to help keep her wounds comfortable. For an asteroid, the weather proved far more changeable than she could have imagined. The cause, of course, could be traced to the mining and industry in the levels above and below her. When the mines opened up new shafts or the refineries cranked up their output, her world shifted in tune. Once, she'd awoken to the delicious patter of raindrops on the rock, a broken water main providing the rare gift of two lazy, rainy days.

She set the bins of food in the goat's stall and pulled the gate shut before adding water to the pellets and covering the bins. Crouching next to her girls, she tugged off her gloves, running her hands over them to check that they weren't cold. "Do you two need your goat jackets? I don't want you catching a chill so close to having your babies." Coco felt fine, her darker coat absorbing more of the heat from the grow lights, but Splash's skin felt chill. Despite the doe showing no sign of shivering, she limped out to fetch both their coats.

"Better safe than sorry," she whispered to the air. "That used to be … someone used to say that to me. Papa, maybe?" She stumbled, her vision darkening as she fought through a wash of pain. "I can't … can't remember who." Stumbling again, she crashed into the doorway to her storage chamber and braced against the rock.

The entire cavern trembled, forcing her eyes open, her hands clutching tighter to the rough-hewn wall as the world tried to shake her off, a dog fresh out of a mud puddle. A deep, lightning-free thunder echoed through the hollow spaces, confirming her guess at the new tunnels. Light showers of dust and rock poured down from the black expanse above: ancient carved-bone runestones tumbling down the rocks.

_Ladies and gentlemen, I present … weather, Omega style! Throw dem bones; see your fate._

Once the darkness swallowed up most of the echoes, she heard Coco and Splash bleating, shrill and distressed. Hurrying back to them, she called out, low and calm, "It's okay, babies. Don't worry, nothing can hurt us down here." She hung their coats over the gate and rushed past to grab the ragged quilt and pillow off her bed. Once the miners started blasting, it lasted for hours. She could hunker down in the stall with the does and keep them calm until they got used to the noise. Snatching a bottle of soda and a small basket of fresh peas from her new fridge, she rushed back, cooing and babbling comforting nonsense the entire way.

"Don't worry, sweeties," she said, soothing them as she entered and closed the gate behind her. "This happens sometimes. They're just blasting open new veins in the mines." Kneeling in the thick bed of shavings, she held out her hands, trying to coax them out of their crate. "Come on, let me put on your jackets, and I'll tell you a story." The black curtain of memory shivered: warm, strong arms and the tickle of a gold-red beard blowing through to wrap around her, thick and soft, drowning out the thunderous rumbles that shattered the peaceful Mindoir night. "It helps. Trust me."

When Coco and Splash stubbornly refused to leave the perceived safety of their crate—something she understood better than she cared to admit—she changed tack.  She set up a cozy little nest on the lowest platform of the wooden play tower she'd built for them along one wall. Once she settled into her quilt and started shucking peas, both does took a much more active curiosity. A couple of pea pod bribes later, both were cozily ensconced in their coats and settled in on her either side.

"Okay," she said, setting the peas aside for the moment, "a story." She stroked both fuzzy heads as she talked, playing with their ears and swirling the little tufts of hair on the tops of their heads. "When I was little and got scared because of a storm, my Papa would always tell me stories. My favourites were the ones about King Arthur and the Holy Grail." She slipped her fingers into the pocket in her leathers to produce the picture of her sitting on her Papa's shoulders.

A flip through the stack failed to find it. Gone! Right …. The image formed: a wrinkled piece of paper lying on the floor next to Archangel's couch. She dropped it climbing out of his room. Grief and loss pulled the darkness in, shadows pushing at the warm envelope of golden light. Oh well, at least Archangel would keep it safe.

She shuffled through the deck of pictures, stopping on another one. Showing it to the goats, she chuckled. "This was one of the first dances I remember." She pointed to a thin rake of a boy, his handsome, cherub face topped by a mop of black hair. She and the boy linked hands, spinning around as fast as they could go without losing their grip on one another. "That's Jon. He was my best … he was going to be my …."

Letting the sentence die, she pointed to her papa. "That's him. That's my papa." Chuckling as Splash nibbled at the corner, she pulled the picture in closer. "No eating my papa. That lady there … the blonde lady in the green dress that he's dancing with … that's Mama." A slow finger traced the long waves of her mother's hair. "God never created another person kinder or more beautiful than my mama." A little too brusquely, she shoved the pictures back into the pocket and snapped it closed. Too bright. They were all too bright with smiles too wide and glaring with life. And Jon … and … Jon.

No! The story. She'd been going to tell the story. She needed to get back to the story. The story, not sweet Jon, her love … her future … his blood splattered across—

She gulped down the spiked mine lodged in her throat before it could detonate. "The story." She settled lower into her nest, finding a position that allowed her body to relax, the pain easing back to bearable. "I don't feel like telling all the doom and gloom of Arthur's story with its ambiguous ending." A soft chuckle dimmed the glare in the chamber back down to a tolerable level. "No, we need a happier story."

Coco's head sank slowly onto her thigh, the doe's eyes closing until another boom startled her, and she jumped up, pacing to the gate and back before climbing partway over L'oeuf's legs. "Easy now. That's it, lovely, just be still. We're safe down this far." She let her eyes close, the warmth and quiet companionship easing her toward sleep. "Shhh, rest easy." A long breath whispered out, and then she started her tale, a quick glove swiping at the tickle under her nose.

"Once upon a time—because that's how all good stories start—there was a farm girl who grew up to become a soldier. She never intended to become a soldier, but sometimes life takes strange turns." The gold lights seemed to dim on the other side of her eyelids, drawing in tight around their cozy little refuge. She stretched out along the wooden platform, her pillow jammed under her arm, her head cradled on her bent elbow.

"This farm girl, as it turned out, was pretty damned good at being a soldier, getting chosen by her people to lead some of the hardest, most dangerous missions. She never failed to achieve her objective, even if it meant sacrificing herself or her people to get it done." Eyes drifting closed, she allowed the languid waves of painkillers to wash her out to sea.

Splash burrowed into the quilt, curling up in the soft folds, neither doe flinching as the blasting continued.

"Then, one day, an old friend came to the farm girl and said, 'Look, I'm worried about you. You take on these impossible missions, and you always succeed, but after each one, less of you comes home.'" She shifted a little, Splash letting out a soft bleat of complaint as the quilt moved, disturbing her. "Sorry, sweetie." She scratched the doe's ears until she settled. "Anyway, the farm girl couldn't argue with that. She knew how much of her had been lost, but she didn't really care. She didn't have anything to live for, you see. Everything she loved most in the world had been taken away, so she just figured she'd do what she could to keep people safe until the bullet marked with her name came along."

She let out a long, happy sigh, Archangel's room rising up around her, the light so dim and restful, his scent—musky enough that she knew he hadn't showered before bed ... and a little spicy … sweet with brandy—so much like Garrus's that it filled her with the delicious ache that had burned behind her breastbone every time the _torin_ walked into her line of sight. Garrus.

She swallowed and shook her head, sniffing back the tears that pressed at the floodgates. The story. She was allowing herself to get ahead of her story. "'I've been given command of a prototype ship,' the old friend told her. 'Come and work with me, be my XO … connect with something again.' And of course, because he asked, she agreed, even against her better judgement. And that was how _he_ came into her life." Past and present blurred into a uniform mist, swirling around her, tendrils tangling her limbs and pulling her down into their embrace. It wrapped around her, strong and tender, exactly as she'd always imagined his arms would feel.

She pulled in a deep breath of Archangel's air, his breath metallic and soured with bad dreams. Adoring fingertips traced the line of his brow, soothing his sleep.

_On whose behalf do you suffer bad dreams, Archangel? Rest easy, beautiful warrior._

Coco shifted, draping her little head over L'oeuf's thigh, the movement easing her far enough back into the present to continue the story. "The farm girl's first mission as her old friend's XO went to complete shit. The council had sent along an agent to help, but he ended up shot in the head by a friend and colleague within the first twenty minutes. The artifact they were there to recover grabbed the farm girl and filled her head with the scariest nightmares imaginable. Of course, when it came into contact with her mind, the artifact promptly exploded." The heel of one hand slipped out from under the warm blanket to press against her temple, the beacon vision rolling on the horizon, a storm threatening to break.

"Then, a few days after that screwed up mission, everything changed when she walked into a shootout in a medical clinic." She forced her eyes open, meeting Coco's stare. "The farm girl walked into a lot of shootouts in those days. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn't go for noodles or use the bathroom without people popping off rounds at her."

A dull, heavy pain spread through her chest, pressing in on her lungs. Her hand slid down the side of her head and neck to press over her heart. She gasped, her entire body fighting to draw air in past the boulder crushing her chest. Her eyes settled closed, awaiting the end … the bright light of salvation. Was she done? Had she evened the scales? Was Archangel sending her on?

She needed to finish the story. "But that day, she met a turian C-Sec officer." The pain spread, deepening. Her words whispered out, breathy and rushed, mist drifting into the darkness. "Good lord, ladies … he had so much attitude." _Breath_. Slower now … that thin trickle of warm, sweet-tinted air so hard to draw in. "The chip on his shoulder was so big I … she thought he'd need to use the ramp to get onto the ship." _Breath._ "But she brought him along, despite his constant railing against authority and rules." _Breath_. So slow … the pain fading, a warm golden light pressing down on her, weighing her down with peace and comfort. "She must … have seen something … even then."

Strident beeping interrupted her. Where? What? Her universe exploded into fire. Flashing lights and alarms ... the _Normandy_ falling apart around her. " _Turn your radio off, Garrus."_

"L'oeuf, this is Mordin Solus. Do you hear me?"

Mordin? No. She pulled back from the sound, shoving it away. His voice didn't belong … it didn't make any sense amidst the explosions … the splintered skin and scattered organs of her ship … her dying home. _Breath._ The weight on her chest fought back, so impossibly heavy and tied to her with steel bands.

Air hissed through a punctured hose, escaping into the void. Frantic fingers clawed at her neck, fighting to loosen a noose that she just couldn't grasp. A roaring keen echoed inside her helmet, Garrus's screams of denial and pain

"L'oeuf! Respond." Mordin cut off the horrible sound of Garrus's suffering: a relief that hooked a whimper, reeling it out with the last of her air. "Installed monitor and locator in asari armour," the salarian continued. "Monitor indicates heart failure." He paused, no doubt waiting for her to answer. "L"oeuf? Daniel and Nalah en route."

As she gasped one last breath, lungs sucking vacuum, the monster roared through the _Normandy's_ corpse, spouting flame and insatiable hunger. She braced herself, but where terror normally tore into her sanity, shredding it with sharp teeth and bladed claws, something else moved in the dark … something reassuring and safe. It shimmered, forming a barrier between her and the gigantic Reaper. Closing in, it wrapped around her, creeping inside her armour. It caressed her brittle skin and seized muscles before whispering through her parted lips, trickling down her throat to feed her lungs. Curling around her heart, it coaxed the labouring organ to beat once, then again.

_You're alive. Against all the odds … against all the laws of nature … you're alive._

Garrus?

Teasing her ears with his voice, it dragged up memories of a hundred jokes and casual friendliness, chats that shared so much more than moments and experiences. Nourishing tears rained down her cheeks to feed those few remaining shreds of who she'd once been.

Commander Jane Marie Shepard.

" _Over time, the farm girl grew to appreciate the caring soul and awkward humour that hid beneath the attitude. His ability to see things others didn't and draw threads together amazed her. He amazed her."_ Breath. " _In short order, his steady presence at her back became something she couldn't do without."_ Breath. " _The thought of going on a mission without him at her six made her heart race and her throat close with panic."_ Brea— " _And then she couldn't drift off to sleep unless she'd spent a couple of hours in the silent cargo bay—well, silent except for Wrex's snoring—tinkering on the Mako, listening to him talk about growing up on Palaven or cases he'd worked at C-Sec."_

Hands and voices moved in the darkness, gentle and insistent, painful without meaning to be. Lightning struck, searing down through her … and again ... but she just held onto the sound of his voice, the sweet scent of him, the rolling purr of his snore. Quitting wasn't so bad, not if she went with him filling her senses. Not if she went with him saturating her heart. After all, she'd died so many times before.

* * *

"Can't be in here. Patient in critical condition." Mordin's voice brutalized the peace, stiff and angry. In the nearly five months since she washed up on Omega's shores, she'd heard the doctor impatient and frustrated, annoyingly smug and intellectually snobbish, but she'd never heard anger. "You need to go, and you had no right to betray patient's privacy."

"Don't go after Erash." Garrus … no, Archangel. "He did the right thing, calling me. I need to be here for her. This isn't some crazy vagrant from the bowels of the station. She's … I …." His voice cracked, a soft keen slipping through his subvocals. "This is Jane Shepard. I need to be here."

Warmth, rough and tight, wrapped around her hand. "Shepard?" The same warmth brushed her brow and hair. The almost-keen warbled through the air again. "You're at Mordin's clinic. They're looking after you. You're going to be all right; you've just got to hang on."

* * *

_White light burned away the darkness, shining down so brightly that it blinded her. It took long minutes for the spots to stop dancing across her vision enough for her to make out her surroundings. A chessboard spread before her: gleaming squares of white marble veined with black, the black shot with gold. Everything beyond the borders of the board disappeared into a void deeper and more empty than the space between stars._

_She tried to take a step, to duck between pieces and explore the space, but nothing moved, her arms and legs immobile. Only her eyes obeyed her and then just a little bit side to side. In an instant, her heart leaped from curiosity—pounding slow and steady—to racing like a terrified rabbit's. Her hands grasped her Mattock, the weapon held in close to her chest. Damn it … what the hell? Sure, tease her with the gun and no way to use it._

_Garrus stood to her right, frozen in a similar pose. Next to him, she saw Wrex, Joker, and Tali. What the actual fuck?_

_Before she could puzzle her way through to an explanation that made any sort of sense, shadows crossed the board, their sources high above and hidden by the piercing light. A massive, female hand reached down to seize the piece in front of her. No sooner had the woman withdrawn, when another hand, this one male and clad in a black glove, moved a black piece forward._

_Four moves in, frustration and fear transformed into a sort of indignant horror when she realized that the woman was shifting the white pieces directly into the path of the black. How were they supposed to win if she sacrificed them intentionally?_

_Black captured a white pawn, but instead of removing the piece from the board, the woman tipped it over to rest on its side. The moment the piece touched down, grey-green tendrils sprouted out of the marble, shooting up over the piece ... a man ... a face she knew from the_ Normandy _. The marine's terrified eyes stared into hers, his screams silent as those terrible vines covered and transformed him. In the space it took to realize what was happening, the human disappeared, a thorian creeper scrambling up in his place._

Well, at least I'm the queen.

_What? What the fuck? At least she was the queen on the chessboard straight from hell? It wasn't as though she'd be allowed to use the power her piece commanded._

_At last, the hand descended from above and the brilliance sharpened into a spotlight focused on her space. The woman grasped her by the head, sliding her out along the diagonal, right into the path of the black side's rook. No! She fought against the invisible bonds. No! She wouldn't just let them turn her into one of their monsters._

_The man gripped the rook, dragging the piece across the marble with the grinding, impossible weight of a heavy draft team pulling a gravestone aside._

Just get it over with! Why drag it out?

_The scream never made it past her lips, and she closed her eyes, steeling her racing heart … unable to even tremble as she awaited the inevitable. Fingertips grasped her shoulders, easing her down onto the marble, their grip barely releasing her before she felt the tendrils slithering over her skin, the desiccated caress of a dead lover._

_Eyes snapping open, she clung to Garrus's stare as the things burrowed through her numb flesh. Sweet lord, agony would be better than that chill pressure, the silken slithering. But, no, the change proceeded, indecently painless, her thoughts gradually dimming: a light bulb buried beneath shovelfuls of wet soil._

_Oblivion came as a—_

"I need to see Dr. Mordin Solus, please."

She snapped straight out of sleep into hypervigilance at the sound of the female voice coming from the other room: the accent, the crisp speech pattern … the efficient arrogance. She knew that voice. Heart pounding against the inside of her ribs, she eased the blankets back. Slipping her feet out from under the tucked in end, she lifted one leg then the other off the bed, sliding silently to the floor. The concrete felt cold and damp underfoot, and she did a little dance until they numbed up a bit.

"Hey," Erash whispered, his voice thin and strained as he hoisted his head from his pillow, "I don't think you're supposed to be getting out of bed."

She shot a glare over her shoulder at the battered salarian and clapped her index finger over her lips. "Sh." Peeling back the tape, she pulled out the IV stuck into the back of her hand, then turned to the computer, disabling the alarms before yanking loose all the wires glued to various parts of her torso. "How long have I been here?" she whispered, her words barely lifting above the whirrs and beeps of the medical equipment.

"Four days, and I'm really sure you shouldn't be doing that." Erash leaned up on his elbow. "You died more than once before they stuck that little computer in your chest." He sucked in a quick breath, but before he could call for Mordin, she chucked her pillow, smacking him right in the face.

"Shut up, or I'll smother you with that thing." Instead of carrying out her threat, she tiptoed to the door and sneaked a glance out. Four days? Good lord, Coco and Splash! "My poor goats. I hadn't even taken the lids off their feed containers."

"Daniel mentioned looking after some goats," Erash muttered, tossing her pillow back over onto her bed. "What's a goat?"

Thank god. "Adorableness in small, four-legged form." She peered out the doorway and down the hall. From that angle, all she could see was a head of perfectly styled raven hair and what looked like a white leather catsuit. Comfy, and oh so stylish … at least among the camel-toe set.

Nalah led Mordin down the hallway. The salarian gave the intruders a quick glance, then stepped between the woman and access to the hall. "Yes?" he replied, crisp and suspicious. "May I help you?" Bless his 150-beats-per-minute heart.

"I'm looking for this individual," the woman replied, her tone clipped and lacking any sort of sincere concern. How did she expect to garner any sympathy for her search when she sounded like a drill sergeant looking for a soldier gone UA? "It's imperative that we locate her immediately. She's gravely ill, so I'm starting my search at the local medical clinics."

A large set of blue armour just seemed to materialize next to Mordin. "Let me see the holo," Archangel said, his voice a hushed, dangerous roar. She peered out a little further when he continued, "This looks like someone I saw on the news … a … uh … Commander Jane Shepard. She's not gravely ill, she's dead. Eighteen months ago."

The woman stepped back, turning just far enough to give L'oeuf a decent look at her face. Pretty, but her blue eyes seemed to stab at everything in the room. Not a face used to being denied, nor overly patient with it. L'oeuf knew that face. It began appearing in her nightmares more than a half year before. The name associated with the face dangled from the tip of her tongue, but the black curtain held it just out of reach.

"Yes, well, I'm sure the resemblance is merely coincidence," the woman said, taking a step back from Archangel's wall of righteous fury. "I cannot overstress how poor this woman's condition is. She may be hours from death."

"Or have died four times in the last four days." She shot a fiery glare over her shoulder at Erash's sly mutter. Great, just what every crisis needed: a smartass salarian.

"If you don't mind, we'll just have a look around—" She ducked to her right, but when faced with Archangel, did an about face to go left. L'oeuf braced to run, heart pounding, muscles fully fueled with adrenaline. She glanced behind her, looking for the grate into the air ducts: the only way out of that room.

"Stay calm," she whispered to herself, sucking a deep, copper/iron scented breath in through her nose. It burned her sinuses and up into the inside corner of her eye. "Mordin will handle it."

Mordin blocked the raven-haired beauty queen. "Do mind." His tone could have frozen iron. She needed to remember to give him a hug or some extra creds … or something. Maybe he liked pizza. "Woman not patient in my clinic. Leave contact information. Will call if I see her." He held an arm out toward the door. "Thank you for alerting us."

The woman remained rooted in front of him, a man walking up beside her. Military. She'd stake her life on it. Handsome and wearing armour just as tight as the woman's catsuit. What? Were they members of the same leather-yoga class? His armour looked ready to climb up his ass and out his mouth.

"If she's not here, what's the harm in our taking a quick look?" the man asked, stepping into Mordin's space only to come face to chest with Archangel.

"The doctor told you he'll call you if she comes in." He pushed them back a little. "Have a good day."

The woman stood her ground, then held out one graceful hand. "Miranda Lawson. I assume I have the privilege of meeting none other than the infamous Archangel?" The way she said the word, she considered meeting him anything but a privilege. For his part, Archangel just crossed his arms over his keel and cocked a hip. A contemptuous smirk twitched at the corner of L'oeuf's mouth. So much attitude. Just like—

"It's time for you to go," Mordin insisted, motioning to the guards. "Show Ms. Lawson and companions to the door."

Something in the way the woman turned, her eyes searching over Mordin's shoulders, told L'oeuf that she'd be back with too many companions for the clinic staff to stop her.

Terror set her heart racing even faster, dizziness darkening the world to black around the edges. Breaths coming in shallow pants she staggered back toward the bed. She needed to get out of there and fast. Snatching up the bag under her bed—hoping it was her belongings—she bolted for the vent cover. It was one of the main ventilation shafts for the district, the grate large and low enough to the ground for her to reach if she climbed up on Mordin's desk.

"What are you doing?" Erash's harsh whisper followed her as she clambered up onto the desk, scattering instruments and tools. "You're not well enough to leave." He threw aside his blankets and swung his legs off the mattress. "You died four times."

She wrenched open the grate, banishing her fear through movement. "Well, that'll make eight or nine now. I'm going for the record." Throwing her bag inside, she climbed up after it. "Tell Mordin I'll bring the gown back."

"You know Archangel will come after you, right?"

She froze with her hand on the grate and glanced toward the hallway. He would follow, but she'd lose him easily enough in the ducts. "Tell him I'm okay, and I'm … I'm sorry." She pulled the grate closed, grabbed her belongings and raced down the duct. Comforting and familiar, the thick dust pressed between her toes, muffling her steps.

As she ran, she fretted over the identity of Miranda Lawson and her military friend. Who were they? Who did they work for? She'd never seen the man before, but Lawson …. She'd said they had people all over the station, searching. They'd never find her spot in the mines. She'd chosen it because it was tucked away in a long-forgotten part of the oldest mines. But now Daniel and Nalah knew where she lived. They'd never betray her intentionally, but what if Mordin sent them to check on her? They might lead the woman straight there.

She paused at the third junction and buttressed a hand against the metal, breathing long and slow to ease back the panic and the waves of dizziness. Her chest ached, but for the most part she felt better than she had in weeks. All those good, IV painkillers. She glanced down the neck of her gown at the tiny scar on her chest. Not to mention the ticker upgrade.

"Shepard?"

She froze. Garrus? No, Archangel. She edged around the corner, moving silently.

"Shepard, it's Garrus." A slow moaning rumble rolled beneath his words. "Shepard? You've got to come back to Mordin's. We can protect you from that Lawson woman, and you need to let him help you."

She pushed against the metal wall, trying to shove off … to make herself run. She needed to run before he got too close. Even in the tight confines of the duct, he would run her down far too easily. She needed to run, but … ohhhh … that voice. It pulled her back, coaxed her to believe it could all be all right again. That she was alive, and someday she'd find the courage to tell Garrus—

No! Not Garrus. Archangel.

"Shepard, I know you can hear me. Erash told me you think I'm this Archangel, but it's just a name. It's just me, Garrus. You died, and near as I've been able to figure out, Miranda Lawson and her organization brought you back." He paused. "I know you escaped somehow, and you're confused, but you're alive. Please come back, let us take care of you. Let us get you well."

Dragging her toes through the filth, she took a single step backwards. Died? Brought back? Sweet lord, she wanted to believe him. But … . She looked around her. How? How did she end up in that place, living like a ghost, scavenging amidst the refuse of Omega? Commander Shepard ….

No, Commander Shepard died, that life reduced to nothing more than a dream. Actually, it hadn't even been a dream most of the time, but a nightmare. Garrus formed the only real reason to look back on that life with any sort of yearning or regret. The rest amounted to loss and duty … and overwhelming responsibility.

"Remember that night after Virmire?" Archangel called. She heard his footsteps: dull, heavy thumps closing slowly. "We sat on the bed in your quarters, ate MRE's, drank fancy dual-chiral brandy, and watched a vid?" She stopped, holding her breath. Could it be?

"That was my best night, Shepard." He cleared his throat, and in her mind, she saw him tug at the yoke of his armour. "You fell asleep halfway through the movie, and I covered you up." The soft, rumbling keen rattled off the metal, bouncing around as it echoed. "I watched you sleep, just like you watched me the other night."

She took a step back, her heart beating hard and quick … she could feel the blood rushing through every vein, feel the heat of it under her skin. What if …?

"Why didn't you wake me up? Spirits, if you'd just woken me up."

Hands braced against the metal once more, she leaned in, needing the barrier to hold the yearning in check. Damn him. Damn her! She wanted to believe, but how could it be?

Garrus.

(A-N: Sorry this took so long. Been eyeball deep in a serious down cycle, but it appears words are happening again. :) Hope you enjoy. All the love for your support.)


	8. Chapter Eight: Bloody Rainbows and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There isn't anything I won't do for you, Shepard. You know that, don't you?" He slipped his gloves back on. "If that means giving you space, and waiting for you to come to me, then I'll wait. I don't like it, everything in me is telling me to come in there after you and to never let you out of my sight again. But I'll wait."

**Written by MosaicCreme**

**(Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictonary)**

**Matrula** \- Mother (Familiar form **Mari** equivalent to mom)

 **Patrem** \- Father (Familiar form **Pari** equivalent to dad)

 **Domin:** Home

 **Pahir** \- Son

 **Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

 **Buratrum** _-_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

Garrus pulled his gloves off, laying them over his knee. Reaching down between his cowl and his armor, he fished around until his talon brushed against the old, familiar leather strap. He hooked his talon under the leather and gently tugged, feeling the metal plates on the other end make their way up.

When they broke free of his armor, he worked the leather strap up around his crest and slipped it free of his neck. Garrus ran his talons over the ID plates, proudly stating his name and rank. When he'd left the military to move on to C-Sec, his _mari_ pried the plates from his military armor, drilled holes through them, and strung them on leather.

He'd never forget the day she gave them to him; right after one of many arguments he had with his _pari_ about Garrus' future. She found him sitting on the bench outside their family _domin_ , stewing in his frustration, picking away at a branch with his talons.

She sat down next to him, and he expected to hear her defend his _pari_ again. He thought she'd tell him his _pari_ meant well and only wanted the best for Garrus. Instead, she dug into her pocket with one hand and took his hand in her other. She dangled the plates in front of his eyes, letting the setting sun dance on them, before dropping them into his palm and folding his talons over them.

"Sometimes, my beautiful _pahir_ , you have to let go of what others expect of you in order to become something greater." She patted his hand. "Just don't ever forget where you came from."

Garrus smiled, letting the memory fade. Granted, she never meant for him to become Archangel, but he thought she'd be proud if only he could tell her. If only she could even understand if he tried.

He had to fiddle with the knot for a minute, years of wear and sweat tightening the knot in the leather strap beyond what his _mari's_ talons ever had the strength to do on their own. He heard Shepard mutter something, the words not quite clear enough for him to make out. Garrus brought the leather to his mouth, aligning the point of a tooth with the grooves where the leather folded in on itself. Working his tooth in, he got the extra leverage he needed to loosen the knot enough to unravel.

"I want you to have something, Shepard." Garrus slid one of the plates free, laying it on top of his gloves. "It's uh … hmmm, well it's a part of me. A reminder of where I come from, and a promise to be something greater." He reworked the knot, securing the second plate. "I lost sight of that for awhile, but I thought you should know … the day I met you was the day I remembered."

Garrus held the leather out, dangling it from a talon, hoping she watched. He heard a small gasp, and thought it must mean she recognized what he offered. He lowered it to the ground next to him before pushing it over the rough surface in her direction as far as his arm could reach. His name, whispered from her lips, floated down to him, easing some of his worry. Maybe some part of her did know it was really him.

Tucking the free plate down into his armor, he wedged it in place with the mementos from her visit. "There isn't anything I won't do for you, Shepard. You know that, don't you?" He slipped his gloves back on. "If that means giving you space, and waiting for you to come to me, then I'll wait. I don't like it, everything in me is telling me to come in there after you and to never let you out of my sight again. But I'll wait."

Garrus settled in against the sheet of metal and rock at his back. "I won't let Cerberus get you, Shepard. My team, they're good people. We'll keep you safe. Butler—he's the one who's been eating those pizzas you keep leaving behind—Butler will be thrilled and honored for the chance to keep you safe. He calls you the Pizza Angel." Garrus chuffed, listening to it echo back to him along with the feather soft sound of pained whimpers and stifled sobs.

He knew the pain she felt didn't come from those terrible scars he saw all over her, or even the fresh incisions from the doctor's work. Dr. Solus had pumped her full of enough painkillers to knock out a krogan. Spirits, but he wished she'd let him come to her. He knew she'd only run though, if he moved from his spot.

He'd tried a few times over the last hour or so, but each time she retreated, staying on the move until he stopped. Afraid to push her, afraid she'd hurt herself and not even feel it through the drug haze, he finally stopped chasing and sat down. He'd exhausted himself standing vigil over her while she slept in the clinic. Dr. Solus tried to get him to leave, but he refused. Stealing an hour of shut eye here and there sitting at her bedside—and then only after the doctor gave her a fresh round of painkillers and assured him she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon—wasn't enough to sustain him much longer.

He hummed softly, knowing it wouldn't reach her ears, but it soothed him a little. It quieted the growing urge to break his word and go after her again; to chase her until she stopped running, stopped hiding, and let him wrap his arms around her. He wanted to hold her close, and bury his face in her hair.

He'd been more terrified in those two days—watching over her and thinking she might die again—than he had ever been any other time in his life. He'd been prepared to rip the clinic apart with his bare hands if Dr. Solus wouldn't let him in to see her. Then, he saw her, and he thought he might just die himself. His heart ached, losing its rhythm as it sputtered behind his ribs, trying to remember what it needed to do. A keen tore its way through his throat, and he didn't even care.

The most important person in his life, the person he thought he'd never see again, laid out on a table cut open and stitched back together again. Dr. Solus said he couldn't be sure she'd pull through, and Garrus nearly told the salarian that if she didn't … well he knew threatening the doctor would be wrong, if not for the doctor's forethought, she might very well be dead tucked away in those mines somewhere. Watching over her as she fought to hold on to life gave him a lot of time to think.

He wanted to tell her he thought he loved her; actually loved her. Somewhere along the line it had stopped being the innocent, curious crush of a young _torin_ enamored by the exploits of a strong woman he admired. He loved her, and even if she didn't feel the same he'd never leave her side. He couldn't. She'd been gone all this time, and he'd never been able to let go of her. He would be selfish though, and not giving her what she needed. She needed safety, not the complications of dealing with a love sick turian. Especially not one too foolish to stop pining for her, even after she died. He could tell her all of that later, when he had her back on her feet.

 _Spirits, there's_ going to be _a 'later'._

* * *

Garrus groaned, consciousness coming to him in a wash off achy muscles and stiff joints. Dust from the mines coated his eyes, nose, and throat, drying them and leaving behind a rawness making him desperate for water. He didn't know how long he'd slept, just that it he'd been there long enough to leave him with serious regrets of his choice of venue.

Straightening his knee, he groaned again at the loud pop. He stretched his arms out to his sides, rolling his neck to ease the ache. Garrus pressed his hands onto the floor and pushed himself to his feet. He strained, trying to hear Shepard's breathing but only the sounds of Omega reached his aural canals.

"Shepard? Are you still there?" He knew she wasn't, she would've gone back to where she felt safe. Dr. Solus said she lived down there somewhere, deep in the mines with something she called goats. He could follow her, track her by her scent and find her again. But he promised he wouldn't.

Her scent lingered, faint, hours old around him, reaching deep into his soul and wearing down the rough edges left by two years of her being gone. She'd come closer while he slept. He looked at the ground, making sure she'd taken his ID plate, relieved to see she had. He started to turn, he needed to check in with his team, but something on the ground next to his foot caught his eye.

Garrus squatted, picking up the square of paper and turning it over in his talons. His throat spasmed, locking down the keen bubbling up in his chest. His and Shepard's faces, hers barely recognizable beneath the grime, stared back at him from the paper.

He remembered that day, when they chased down what seemed like at least a hundred pyjaks, searching each of the little nuisances for the missing data module. The Alliance had been using a probe to gather intel on geth activity in the area when the probe crashed. By the time they got to Eletania, they found the probe surrounded by pyjaks, and the data module gone.

He'd suggested shooting them to make everyone's lives easier. Shepard grinned and opened her mouth, he thought to join him in the joke, but Tali screeched, slapping him on the shoulder. He tried to assure her he meant it as a joke, but she gave him the cold shoulder the rest of the day. It was worth it to hear Shepard's laugh.

They'd stopped at every colony they could find, chasing down the critters Shepard called monkeys and checking their little fingers for the module. One of them climbed Shepard's back and started digging through her hair. Although closer, Tali couldn't stop laughing enough to help so Garrus dropped the pyjak tucked under his arm to come to Shepard's rescue. The damn thing bit his finger as he untangled him from Shepard, wincing as chunks of her hair came away with the pyjak. Even after the fiasco, she stayed so smitten with the little guys that he wouldn't have been surprised to find that she'd snuck one back on the ship.

By the time they made it to the old abandoned mine, Shepard and Garrus had turned the hunt for the data module into a competition. Tali kept count, just to make sure things stayed fair, whoever checked the most pyjaks had to clean the other's muck covered armor when they got back to the _Normandy_. Bonus points went to whoever actually found the module. He felt certain Tali cheated, still being angry with him for joking about shooting the pyjaks, but in the end he didn't really mind cleaning Shepard's armor.

Garrus smiled, absently tapping the photo against his mouth as he stood back up. No, he wouldn't follow her. He'd let her have her space for now, but it didn't mean he'd sit back and wait for Cerberus to find her either. He had work to do.

* * *

"So let me get this straight. Butler's Pizza Angel is Commander Shepard. _The_ Commander Shepard, and the exact same Commander Shepard these Cerberus assholes are after? Wait. How is any of this even possible? She died, right? I mean, she went down with _Normandy_. It was all over the news." Weaver leaned forward in her chair, pressing her elbows into her knees and holding her hands out in question.

Garrus flared his mandibles, pushing back the memories of that day and cleared his throat. "The best I can tell, Cerberus found her body and brought her back somehow. There wasn't enough information there for me to get the details."

Butler grinned. "This has got to be the best day of my life."

"I don't understand, if she's Commander Shepard, then why are you so concerned? Clearly she can take care of herself." Melenis crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. "If she doesn't want your help, why force it?"

"You didn't see her. She's in bad shape." Garrus rubbed a hand over his brow. "Some of what Dr. Solus said, and what I saw in their reports makes me think they weren't exactly done rebuilding her when she escaped."

"Then why'd she leave the clinic? Why run and hide instead of coming here with you?" Ripper leaned against the opposite frame a few feet away from Melenis. "Weren't you two close? I mean, you were right there with her when she took down Saren and his—what'd you call it?"

"Reaper." Sidonis chimed in for the first time. "It's called a reaper, and there's supposed to be more of them on the way, but the Council is too stupid to listen to him." Sidonis moved to stand behind Garrus, resting a hand on the back of his chair. "If she's in that bad of shape, she's probably terrified and confused. Spirits, being brought back from the dead, I know I'd be."

Garrus hummed, his subvocals heavy with gratitude for the other _torin_ , glad someone understood.

"So what do you need from us, Archangel?" Mierin asked from his spot on the couch.

"Well, even if Shepard wasn't involved; I don't like the idea of Cerberus poking around on Omega. They're bad people, and _tarc_ always goes sideways when their name comes up." Garrus stood, pacing the stretch of floor between the couch and chair. "Something about that Miranda Lawson made my hide itch, worse than usual when it comes to Cerberus. There's no way she's letting this go. She wants Shepard, and I think she's willing to go through anything standing in her way." He stopped next to a shelf, picking up a heat sink from an ammo crate and turning it over in his talons as he thought through his next words. "She came to the clinic looking for Shepard, and I don't think she believed us when we said she wasn't there. The look in her eyes … she'll go back to that clinic, with force."

"But Nalah works there." Butler frowned, his brows dipping low on his face. He crossed his arms, his biceps flexing as he worked through his worry.

"This is insane. You think she's going to—what? Toss the clinic? Shoot the place up all for one woman who doesn't want to be found." Weaver stood, her eyebrows attempting a retreat from the rest of her face. "Omega _needs_ that clinic. It's one of the only clinics on this station, and Dr. Solus the only damn doctor here who isn't just out to turn a profit."

"And my wife works there!" Butler raised his voice, agitation coating his words.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Weaver moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"That's why we're going to make sure nothing happens to the clinic." Garrus settled the heat sink back down into the ammo crate. "Talk to Nalah, see if you can convince her to take a couple of days off."

He looked up, meeting the gaze of each member of his crew. Their expressions varied from excitement, to boredom, to determined outrage, but they all made one thing clear: they were all in it with him.

* * *

It took less than an hour once they'd gotten to the Gozu District to find a suitable empty building with a good view of the clinic. Garrus broke the squad, leaving half there in the temporary base to keep guard of the clinic while the other half made their way back to the main base. There wasn't anyway to know for sure when Cerberus would attack the clinic, but he knew they would. He couldn't leave their home unprotected in the meantime.

_And Shepard might come back._

Garrus would head back with Sidonis, Weaver, and Mierin, but he wanted to speak to Dr. Solus first. He needed to know more about the seriousness of Shepard's condition. Sidonis offered to tag along as he made his way to the Omega Clinic. Butler already went ahead to find Nalah. As usual, they found the waiting area packed, but Garrus didn't wait to be called back, and no one tried to stop him.

Dr. Solus stepped out of a side room, not missing a step when his eyes landed on Garrus. "Good, can use extra set of hands. Come." He continued past Garrus, entering the room where Shepard spent most of her time.

Garrus didn't argue, following Dr. Solus into the room. A batarian sat on the edge of one of the beds holding his badly mangled arm against his chest. Broken bone protruded through his skin, and blood trailed down his chest, soaking into the bedding beneath him. Garrus stopped in the doorway, wondering what in _buratrum_ the doctor needed him for in that room. He traded a look with Sidonis, and the other _torin_ shrugged in response.

Dr. Solus looked back at Garrus and Sidonis standing in the doorway and blinked. "Patient refuses sedation. Bones must be set. Patient will likely struggle. Assistants with other patients, can't assist. Please hold patient down."

"You're serious?" Garrus flared his mandibles beneath his helmet.

"Yes." Dr. Solus grabbed a pair of scissors from the medical tray next to the bed and set to work cutting away the batarian's shirt.

The batarian watched the doctor work, seemingly unperturbed by the notion.

"Okay," Garrus drawled, moving to the other side of the bed.

Sidonis lingered near the foot of the bed, either unsure of the task at hand, or just not sure where he'd be needed. When Dr. Solus finished removing the batarian's shirt, he nudged him back flat on the bed. Garrus gripped the patient's uninjured forearm with one hand, bracing his other against the patient's shoulder. Now given a clear objective, Sidonis grabbed an ankle in each hand and leaned forward, using his weight to pin the batarian's legs to the bed.

Dr. Solus positioned his hands above and below the protruding bone of the forearm. "Last chance."

The patient clenched his jaw and nodded. Dr. Solus went to work pulling downward on the lower section. Bone ground against bone, the sound making Garrus' stomach do somersaults. The batarian growled, his body going rigid beneath Garrus' hands as the doctor used his fingertips to forcefully guide the jagged bone back through the skin.

"Should accept surgery. Won't heal properly." Dr. Solus sniffed. "Fear foolish. Irrational." One final shove later, and the bone slipped back into place. "Will require sutures and splint. Maybe learn to ask for assistance when climbing unstable ladder next time."

When the doctor nodded at him, Garrus let go of the batarian and retreated back to the door. He thought about waiting outside, but wasn't entirely sure the doctor wouldn't need him again. So, he waited and watched as the batarian agreed to local anesthetic, and the doctor stitched him up. Dr. Solus applied Medi-gel and wrapped the arm in a splint, telling him he might need something sturdier once the stitches were removed, and reminding him once more that if he'd only agreed to surgery, his healing time would've been cut in half.

The batarian grumbled, muttering his gratitude before nodding to Garrus and Sidonis on his way out. Dr. Solus washed his hands and led them back to the lab area where he did most of his work. He moved to a console, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if Garrus and Sidonis were still there. "L'oeuf not here."

"I know." Garrus said, leaning his hip against a table. "She's back in the mines. That's not why I'm here, doctor. I need to know what they did to her. How bad is it?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality." Mordin moved from his console to a centrifuge, pulling out a vial of blood and holding it up to the light before looking at the machine's read out and tutting to himself.

"Spare me the lecture. Shepard trusts you—or at least she did. Can you help her?" Garrus asked.

"Yes. When allowed." Dr. Solus moved to another machine to push buttons before moving back to the table, shuffling things around.

"When allowed? She's not letting you?" Garrus flared his mandibles, more pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Dr. Solus didn't answer, instead he picked up a datapad and scrolled down the screen.

Garrus guessed he was done trying to make his point about doctor-patient confidentiality, and he wouldn't get much more out of the doctor. "I, uh, found some information that might be relevant to Shepard's condition. I can forward you the files if you think they'll help."

Dr. Solus stopped, setting the datapad down on the table and turned to Garrus, looking at him for the first time since they left the other room. He opened his omni-tool, ready to receive the information Garrus offered. "Will review files."

Garrus opened his omni-tool and sent the information extracted from the Cerberus consoles to Dr. Solus. "We should get you moved someplace safer."

"Can't leave. Need to run clinic." Dr. Solus scanned over the files, his facial expressions giving nothing away.

"We both know that Lawson woman is coming back here, Dr. Solus. And we both know she's not coming alone." Garrus pushed away from the table, following Dr. Solus as he moved around the lab. "She's looking for Shepard, and she knows she's been here. I've got some of my team set up nearby to watch over the clinic. But you can't run this clinic if you're dead."

Dr. Solus moved back to the console, still not bothering to look at either Garrus or Sidonis. "Won't tell Cerberus about L'oeuf either."

Garrus chuffed. "I don't doubt it, doctor. But I know these people, and they aren't going to leave your, or anyone else in this clinic alive, whether you tell them what they want to know or not."

"Cerberus. Yes, familiar with reputation." Dr. Solus moved to a microscope. "Won't shut clinic down; too many with nowhere else to go. Won't leave. Will deal with Cerberus."

Garrus flared his mandibles, annoyed but unsurprised. The truth Garrus didn't want to admit, if Dr. Solus died, he didn't know who he'd turn to for help with Shepard. He could try to contact someone in the Alliance, but surely Shepard had her reasons for not doing it already … or they just refused to help her. Maybe he could get a direct message through to Dr. Chakwas.

"Not alone you won't." Garrus started to head for the door. "My team will be watching, and when Cerberus shows up they'll have a fight." He nodded his head to Sidonis, who fell into step next to him.

Dr. Solus gently cleared his throat. "Condition stable for now."

Garrus stopped, turning back to face the doctor. The old salarian met his gaze, the look in his eyes telling Garrus that the doctor wouldn't be pressed, and wouldn't repeat himself. He offered Garrus all he felt he could, and maybe even a little more.

"Will continue to monitor. If systems fail, will be retrieved for treatment." Dr. Solus stared at Garrus a moment longer before turning his attention back to his work.

"Thank you, doctor." Garrus nodded before leaving the clinic.

* * *

Garrus paced the floor of his room. Sometime in the two days he spent watching over Shepard in the clinic, someone in his crew decided to ramp up security in the base—including his room. By the smell of it, Weaver and Melenis took on the task of dealing with his room, and it would take him days to find everything they added.

He felt torn, the base did need better security. Shepard had proven as much sneaking in the way she did, but she was the last person he wanted to keep out. Problem was, he'd stood right there next to Dr. Solus in Lawson's face and basically told her to go to _buratrum_. He had to expect Lawson might show up at his base just as readily as she did the clinic.

Garrus shook his head and flared his mandibles. Shepard was smart. Too smart not to scope a place out, even if she'd already been there before. Still, it didn't mean he couldn't put out a welcome mat for her, as the human's said. He spent some time disabling what traps he could find around the entrances to his room, paying special attention to those set up near the vent. As an afterthought, Garrus unscrewed the vent cover and slipped it behind a chair.

He'd barely settled into bed, his mind still racing with thoughts of Shepard and Cerberus when his omni-tool started pinging incessantly. Garrus opened the omni-tool, squinting against the harsh orange light and opened his messages. Cerberus started the attack on the clinic.

Garrus threw back the sheets and scrambled out of bed, yelling for Sidonis as he grabbed his clothes and armor. He was pulling his shirt down over his head when Sidonis rushed into the room. Garrus jerked it into place, already reaching for his armor. "Get everyone up, Cerberus is hitting the clinic."

Sidonis snapped his mandibles tight and ran back out, leaving Garrus to get his armor on. Garrus turned, glancing over his shoulder at the gaping hole in his wall left by the missing vent cover.

_What if she comes and I'm not here? Spirits._

Garrus snapped the last of his armor into place, checked his heat sinks, and holstered his guns before crossing the room to pick up a datapad. Fingers moving hastily over the keys, he left Shepard a message. " _Cerberus is hitting the clinic. They're looking for you. Gone to help Dr. Solus. Make yourself at home, look out for the team's security upgrades. Wait for me, Shepard. Spirits, please wait for me."_

He sat the datapad on the lip of the vent and left. The others were gathered around out front waiting for him.

* * *

Garrus took his team in through the back of the clinic, keeping in radio contact with Monteague as he led the others through the front. Monteague and his team had given Cerberus quite the show just outside of the clinic, but despite their best efforts, Cerberus breached the doors. Monteague gave chase, his team becoming split in the process. Butler charged ahead, determined to get to his wife, and Monteague sent Ripper and Krul after him.

Explosions rocked the facility as Garrus made his way past patients cowering in corners. Pools of blood, red, violet, and blue streaked the floor in a macabre mockery of a rainbow. Rage boiled up inside of Garrus as he stepped over a young human female, barely on the cusp of adulthood, lying dead in the doorway. Her back, riddled with bullet holes, turned into a pulpy mess—the effects of high powered weapons against someone with no armor.

The cries of battle came from just beyond the next door; Dr. Solus' lab. Garrus pressed his back to the door frame in time to see Ripper lunge at a Cerberus commando, taking the man to the ground. At the back of the room, he saw Dr. Solus lift his head out from behind a table and activate tech on his omni-tool. A second later, a nearby soldier burst into flames. Dr. Solus fired off three shots at him before taking cover again.

"Weaver with me. You other three, go find the rest of Monteague's team and provide support." Garrus didn't wait to be sure his orders were being followed before lowering his assault rifle and pressing into the room, taking up cover behind an overturned table a few feet from the door. A moment later, while Garrus fired at the nearest commandos, Weaver appeared next to him.

"Move right to the crate over there; cover Ripper. I'm moving to the doctor." Garrus broke left, moving around behind lab equipment as he provided covering fire to keep them off of Weaver. He crouched, pressing his back against the metal machinery and peered around the corner. Butler stood from behind an overturned table, spraying the room with fire. He'd lodged himself in a position in front of a patient room door. If Garrus had to guess—by the pure look of fury chiseled into Butler's features—he'd say Nalah hid behind that door. Garrus scanned the area until he caught his first glimpse of Krul, and signaled the batarian through the comms. Krul looked up and around, his eyes finding Garrus, and he gave Garrus a stiff nod.

Garrus made a dash, staying low to the floor, to the back of the lab. Krul popped out of cover, drawing enemy attention to him as he flung grenades toward the low barricades Cerberus erected on the opposite side of the room. Garrus dove behind the table, sliding next to the doctor on a hip. Dr. Solus looked at him, blinked twice, and then stood to use his Incinerate, effectively roasting an engineer attempting to set up a turret.

Garrus looked over the doctor, assuring himself the old salarian wasn't hurt before he opened fire on the Cerberus troops poking their heads up past the barricades. A trooper moved to a door at Garrus' left, an explosion rocking the whole room sent him flying back. His body hit the floor and slid, landing not far from Krul's location.

"Your work?" Garrus flicked his mandibles, raising his brow ridge.

"Damage to clinic easier to repair than patients. Every door rigged. Focused explosives, shielded, less damage done than appears." Dr. Solus paused to fire his pistol at a commando. "Interesting, does not deter commanding officers from sending next soldier to next door."

"Where are the patients? I saw some in the lobby, but not enough to account for how full this clinic usually is." Garrus pivoted out around the corner of the table, taking out the legs of a commando sneaking up on Ripper.

"Erash with most of them. Insisted on helping. Gave him weapon, told to guard patients and staff. Locked in room with twenty two others. Door locked and rigged to explode. Will keep them at far side of room, just in case." Dr. Solus nodded his head at a room two doors down where Butler stood guard. "Others hiding in staff office, some fled. Attempted to flee." Dr. Solus shook his head and made a tutting noise. "Pointless killings. Wasteful."

Butler bellowed, drawing Garrus' attention back to his post. A couple of Cerberus commandos were moving in on his position. Butler smashed the butt of his assault rifle in the first man's face, caving in the visor before shoving the muzzle into his gut and pulling the trigger. Blood and gore splashed back, coating Butler.

Garrus growled in frustration, the second commando stood too close to Butler for Garrus to shoot with the assault rifle, it'd be too easy for Butler to take friendly fire. Dr. Solus moved to Garrus' side, leaning around him and using his Incinerate to set the man aflame. His screams of agony ended abruptly when Butler turned his gun on him next.

Another explosion rocked the room and Garrus glanced up in time to see a body sail through the air, a moment later, through the haze of smoke he spotted a woman in a skintight, black and white jumpsuit dart into the now opened door. "Lawson."

"Nothing to find." Dr. Solus shrugged.

Static filled Garrus' aural canal, followed by Monteague's voice. "Archangel, we've cleared the area, and we're headed to your location."

"Copy that," Garrus said as he stood to fire on the barricade once more.

A few moments later, another explosion drew Garrus' attention back to the wall of doors. They'd breached the room Shepard and Erash shared the last time Garrus visited them in the clinic. Garrus growled before shaking it off, reminding himself Shepard no longer occupied the room, and they'd find nothing inside.

"Krul, watch the door at my eleven. When she comes out, shoot her." Garrus stood, using a concussive shot to knock a charging commando back into his squad.

Monteague's team arrived, and within minutes the rest of the Cerberus troops were obliterated. Garrus left cover to help check the bodies and clear the room. Dr. Solus defused the explosives, freeing Erash and his wards. Garrus heaved a sigh of relief when Nalah pushed past the others, throwing herself bodily on her blood soaked husband. Butler wrapped his meaty arms around her and lifted her off the ground, crushing her against his chest and sprinkling her face with kisses.

Garrus went back to stripping the corpses of their gear. He looked up when a pair of boots came into his peripheral. Krul stood next next to him, glancing between Garrus and the rest of the clinic.

The batarian rubbed the back of his neck. "She never came out."

"What?" Garrus flared his mandibles in confusion, rising to his feet.

"The woman, she never came back out of the room. I went in to look, and she's gone. The vent cover is missing from the wall." Krul turned to look back at the room, as if hoping the human might miraculously reappear so he could shoot her as Garrus asked.

 _She's going after Shepard._ Tarc _. Maybe it's not that bad, maybe she just knew she wouldn't make it out of here alive any other way. Doesn't matter, she'll never get Shepard. Not so long as I draw breath._

Garrus let out a long breath and shook his head. Slapping Krul on the shoulder he nudged him toward the group of patients being tended to by Dr. Solus. "Don't worry about it. Go see if you can help the doctor."

Garrus crouched back down next to a commando and flipped him over to his back, his visor scanning for signs of life. He took the dead man's ammo and weapons before moving on to the next.

"Ow! Alright, alright!" A startled salarian voice rose above the din of sick, injured, and just plain frightened patients.

Garrus turned to look over his shoulder, spotting Dr. Solus dragging Erash across the room by his horn. Erash stumbled over his own feet, trying to keep up with the doctor. Garrus' bit back his laughter and stood to meet the two salarians as they approached.

"You treat all your patients this way, Dr. Solus?" Garrus fluttered his mandibles lightly, letting a smile creep in around the edges of his mouth.

"No longer patient. Officially discharged." Dr. Solus tugged on Erash's horn, guiding Erash to stand in front of Garrus. "Stop acting like hatchling. Want to join him, ask!" He let go of Erash, brushing his hands together as if ridding himself of the salarian's filth and sniffed. "Patients to attend to. Can't deal with your hovering and second guessing."

Dr. Solus turned and walked back to his patients, leaving Erash standing in front of Garrus. Garrus crossed his arms over his chest and let his weight fall to one hip, watching the former mercenary with curiosity.

Erash rubbed his horn, searching out the weight of Garrus' gaze through his helmet. Finally he dropped his hand and shrugged. "I can help."

Garrus nodded his head to the next Cerberus corpse. "Strip them of their weapons and ammo. We'll talk expectations later."


	9. Chapter Nine: Gifts and other Objects of Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tugging the quilt closer around her neck, she held the offering to her face, just breathing in the warm, healing scent of him. A hint of leather smell remained, but mostly … him. Sweet dear and fluffy lord, she hadn't realized how much she missed that smell. Closing her eyes, she slipped sideways until she lay with her head on her pillow, the metal plate and strap still clutched to her face. She kicked at the quilt to cover her feet when they complained of the cold, but otherwise simply drifted into a deep sleep, feeling safer than she could remember feeling.

**Chapter Nine - Gifts and other Objects of Power**

 

**Written by: MizDirected**

 

 **Torin** \- Male turian over the age of majority (15)

She sagged against the cool stone, the half-dark and open air of the mine a welcome relief after several hours in the ducts. She closed her eyes, letting the wide spaces settle all the thoughts and nerves set rioting by the events of the day. Covert highways through the station or not, the shafts and tunnels pressed too tight, the greasy dust settling into everything, her lungs most of all. They wrapped her mind in bars and chains, prisons that kept the same thoughts pounding at the inside of her skull, the same emotions pricking her heart and the length of her spine like nettles.

The good, clean air and impossibly high ceilings of the mines allowed them all to escape, to turn to mist along with her breath and dissipate, drifting up into the darkness.

She checked to make sure Coco and Splash had food, then gave them both a good scratch and a quick brushing before putting their jackets back on. "Sorry lovelies," she said, latching the gate behind her. "I'll make it up to you once I feel a little better."

The silence embraced her, the air still and peaceful as she climbed onto her cot and wrapped her raggedy quilt around her. Unsure whether Archangel—Garrus?—would keep his promise and let her go without following, she took a circuitous route that covered at least a kilometre of the station's ducts and maintenance shafts. All of Mordin's lovely painkillers began to wear off an hour before she reached the mine.

At least she'd just gotten back with a new supply of meds before her heart gave out. She could stay holed up for a couple of days without needing to go farther than Zullius's. Crap, she should have gotten a pizza on the way back. Oh well, she needed sleep more than food. And … she pulled the precious token from the pocket over her heart … she needed something else more than sleep.

Tugging the quilt closer around her neck, she held the offering to her face, just breathing in the warm, healing scent of him. A hint of leather smell remained, but mostly … him. Sweet dear and fluffy lord, she hadn't realized how much she missed that smell. Closing her eyes, she slipped sideways until she lay with her head on her pillow, the metal plate and strap still clutched to her face. She kicked at the quilt to cover her feet when they complained of the cold, but otherwise simply drifted into a deep sleep, feeling safer than she could remember feeling.

_Techno music blared, pounding against her ears and forehead like rubber mallets wrapped in cotton batting. She winced at what felt like the third hour of the same song then sipped at her lemon soda. At least the soda made up for a little of the general "introvert stuck at a party" horror. She glanced toward the dance floor, shaking her head when Alenko and Williams waved for her to join them. That's all she needed, the news reporting humanity's first Spectre having a seizure to a techno beat._

" _Not joining in the fun?"_

_She looked up, the first genuine smile of the night greeting the newest member of her team. She glanced back toward the dance floor and shook her head. "That's not so much fun as making people think that I'm being riddled by bullets on the dance floor." She shrugged and gave the chair next to her a little shove with her foot by way of invitation. "It causes a panic ... everyone thinking someone's shooting up the place with an automatic weapon … and I don't want you to have to arrest me for disturbing the peace."_

_Garrus pulled out the chair and took a seat. "You're safe; I'm officially on leave as of 1700." He leaned back, shaking his head when a waitress paused next to the table. "I'd think you'd want to celebrate being the first human Spectre." A sly, sideways glance slid over her. "It's a big deal, right?"_

_She shrugged. "Sure, I guess. It just sort of feels like I bought it with Nihlus's blood, you know? Not to mention that I could have used a few weeks of having a Spectre partner. Nothing like being thrown in the deep end." Damn, nothing like being the party's official pooper either._

Way to make friends, Shepard.

_Flushing a little, she shrugged. "Now, if I'd planned this party, it would be held at the Armax or at a shooting range … maybe a petting zoo." A wide grin met his raised brow plates and dropped mandibles. "Ah … that didn't translate well, did it?" For a moment, she considered letting him go with the translated debacle, but then … he looked so scandalized, that she took pity. "A petting zoo is a menagerie of animals … usually the cute, cuddly ones: cats, puppies, rabbits, goats, ponies … and you can feed them and stroke their fur … or hair."_

_He relaxed, letting out a flustered chuckle. "Yes, that didn't translate well." Mandibles relaxing into what she was pretty sure was a smile, he cocked one brow plate. "Although, I'm sure once the shock wore off, that sort of party would have made you one of the most intriguing and scandalous humans I've met. And I'm pretty sure I would've had to arrest you."_

_Her face exploded into technicolour fireworks, lava burning up her neck. Choking, she scrambled for her soda, needing the distraction to get her blush under control. "Sorry," she gasped between coughing spasms, "I'm not that interesting."_

_For a moment, she thought he might slap her on the back, but he just shifted in his chair, looking as uncomfortable as he had cocky the moment before. She grinned. It was good to know someone had as little social game as she did._

_Shrugging, he leaned forward, forearms on the table, looking as though he wished he'd ordered a drink just to have something to occupy his talons. "I don't know, I can't fault anyone for liking animals." A rough rumble came out of his throat—she thought he might be clearing it—and suddenly no one else existed in the entire club. "When I was a_ puer _, I used to find injured animals and look after them until they were healthy enough to release." Another rumble and he ducked his head, mandibles flicking. "Found a_ preteril _with a broken leg once. Couldn't release it so kept it in my_ mari's _garden."_

 _Finally regaining some semblance of control, Shepard looked up at him, both grateful for the change of subject and the fact that only half the club seemed to be staring at her. "_ Preteril _?" she said, the word more of a gasp. Damn, she needed to learn how to be cool._

_He held his talons about ten centimetres apart. "Little, ground-dwelling animals with thick fur and big eyes." Activating his omnitool, he keyed up a picture of what looked like a gopher with plates down its spine._

" _Aw, it's adorable." She grinned, all embarrassment forgotten. "Great, now I need one. I could build it a habitat in my cabin on the_ Normandy _." She let out a long breath and slumped back in her chair, her stare returning to the dance floor. "I want to go do something fun. When are they going to do all the obligatory toasting?"_

_Garrus closed his omnitool. "Once they've done that part, you're going to bail, aren't you?"_

_She just grinned and wriggled her eyebrows. "Want to go shoot off some rounds at targets? I have access to the C-Sec academy range now."_

_Nodding, he grinned—that mandible flick again—and said, "Sounds good."_

She woke to soft bleating and screaming pain, greeting both with a wide grin. Stretching, long and luxurious, she let out a soft chuckle, feeling good enough that the pain slipped onto the back burner. She couldn't remember the last time she'd woken feeling so clear. Questing fingers located the leather thong and ID plate on her pillow and held it up.

"Droney, light please. Bright." The drone sprang to life above and behind her, blinding her with the brilliant, blue-white glare reflecting off the polished metal. "Whoa, dude, not that bright." Once the brilliance faded a little, she ran her fingers along the imprinted turian letters. She couldn't read them, but she could figure them out, referring to her own.

Her fingers dove for her neck. Her tags. She didn't have them. Sitting up, she clapped that hand to where they should have sat between her breasts. If Garrus was right …. She grinned as her mind went straight there: Garrus. Anyway, if he was right, and she was alive—if Cerberus had brought her back from the dead—where were her tags? They were as much a part of her being as her hands and feet. They belonged around her neck, their slight weight always present.

She ran her hands over her breasts, fingertips skating through the hollow between. All those nights she'd laid back against her pillows, her hands trailing over her body, imagining they were his … they'd jangle as she moved, her fingers bumping them then sweeping them back over her shoulder.

All the times she'd pictured them together … when she tried to imagine those same images without those two small pieces of her soul trapped between their sweat-slick bodies ….

She scrambled out of bed. She needed to get them back. Pausing in her rush, she took her meds and applied sealant to all the open wounds, then packed an extra syringe of painkillers in her belt pouch. Aria had sent her the pictures. She took off the hospital gown, the poor thing filthy and ragged from its adventure through half of Omega, and slipped into leggings and a t-shirt before putting on the commando leathers.

If all of this was real, if she truly was alive, the pictures Aria delivered with the goat supplies would have been in her foot locker on the _Normandy_. That meant Aria either salvaged it—unlikely—or bought it—more likely—from someone who went to the site, looking to pick the bones of the dead for souvenirs. If she found out who it was, she'd take care of them and leave their bones picked bare. But first … she needed to find what else Aria held in her slippery little blue fingers.

Her life. Her artifacts … the proof of who she'd been. No one else … well, almost no one else had any right to them.

Holding up Garrus's tag, she ached to slip it over her head, to feel it nestled between her breasts. She clasped it to her face again, breathing him in. But if she did … if she wore it … his smell would fade, replaced by hers. Oh, screw it, she'd give it back to him for a refresher, or steal his pillow or something. She slipped the leather over her head, then tucked the tag down the collar of the leathers, shivering a little as it wriggled down where it belonged.

She stopped at the goats' chamber to check their water and feed, throwing down a couple of dried apple-block goat treats for them to gnaw at while she was gone. They had a climbing structure laced with toys, and some balls to whack around, but still she worried about them getting bored.

"Don't worry, you two," she said, sitting with them for a moment to be sure they weren't going to drop their kids, "I left Mordin's tracker and monitor in place. So if anything happens to me, Daniel will know to come and look after you." She gave them both kisses on their little boney noggins and headed out. "I'll try to get home early to spend some time with you." Shaking her head at the mess of soggy shavings around the water trough, she sighed. "And I'll definitely clean that up, Splash, you muck puppy. But right now, I've got to go see a queen about some tags."

* * *

Aria really needed to beef up her security around Afterlife. After a moment crouched behind the maintenance hatch, breathing in dust and stale booze, L'oeuf slipped through into Afterlife's stockroom. Leaving the door open in case she needed an emergency exit, she crept between the shelves of dusty crates and bottles. Staircases going up and down led to the two floors of the bar, but no one moved on either. Having the stockroom in between must prove handy for the bar staff. Also handy for her, since the maintenance shaft led right to the back wall, and the hatches boasted the most pathetic locks on the station.

It took only a few seconds to check the shelves. All the crates contained booze. No surprise there. Although, a few crates of cleaning supplies might have left her feeling better about drinking there. She uncovered the safe in about a half second, no one putting any imagination into disguising it. Truly, Aria must count on her reputation to keep out the criminals because even with her sad omnitool, it took L'oeuf two minutes to override it. Sure, she'd had infiltrator training, but come on … pirate queen of Omega and a four digit lock code? Maybe killing anyone who crossed her made up for the lack of imagination.

The safe proved as disappointing as the stockroom. No one kept cash around. Not that she would have been stupid enough to steal any that had been there. She headed back to the shafts. Aria didn't have an office, she preferred to conduct all her business out where the whole station could see it, so next stop: penthouse apartment. At the junction where Shaft 1002 headed into the infrastructure and Shaft 1002c headed into the club, L'oeuf hesitated. Should she bother going in … specifically to the duct right above Aria's little roost?

When she'd first arrived on the station, she'd spent nearly a week holed up in those vents, listening and learning the lay of the land. She knew Aria would never keep the foot locker in the club, but ….

Letting out a sigh, she climbed 1002c toward the club. It couldn't hurt to check on Aria, make sure she sat amidst her court. The metal ladder's rungs crunched in her grip: the patent pending Omega sludge layer rearing its ugly head. Over the months, she'd become oblivious to a lot of things: the stinking effluvia of old motor oil mixed with shit and body odour that passed for air, the way her snot always came out blacker than coal when she blew her nose … but she'd never get used to that greasy grit. At least it seemed less prevalent in the mine, which she supposed passed for irony.

Moving silently, she settled in above the grate that looked right down on the stairs up to Aria's throne. All the usual suspects clustered around the asari, seated at the lower tables and on the couches above, everyone just far enough away to avoid any direct blows. Dancers writhed on platforms to either side, holding no one's attention.

It amused her to watch Aria's lackies and sycophants. They laughed at her jokes, their grins never reaching their dull, cow eyes, and they cringed every time she moved, but they never looked her way, as if afraid to draw her attention. For a crazy moment, lying belly down on that slimy duct floor, it took all her control to stop her fingers from popping the cover from its seat. The look on Aria's face when the phantom of the Omega opera slithered out of the vent head first, scars livid, smile half … no, three-quarters-crazed … that picture would be worth far more than a thousand words.

She laid on her hands, just in case they took it upon themselves to do something stupid, and listened. Nothing news worthy, just the usual day to day crap of Omega. She let out a long breath, ready to leave, but then Mokleg … Moklan … whatever his name was … third batarian thug to the left moved out from in front of a display case.

Sookie! Shit. For one brash second, the latch on the vent pressed into her thumb and forefinger. Sookie! How the flying fuck did Aria get her hands on Sookie? That rifle had been with her since … well, a long fucking time. Damn Mattocks never aged, never failed.

No. With an effort equivalent to reeling in a blue whale—which she'd never actually tried to reel in but figured would be really hard—she pulled her hand back from the latch. If she gave herself away over Sookie, she'd never make it to the foot locker, a far more important prize at the moment. Fuck.

Wraithlike, she lifted herself from the vent floor and vanished into the shadows, welcome and invisible, just another shadow drifting through the endless night.

* * *

The bars and chains closed down for the three hours it took to reach the maintenance ducts in Aria's penthouse, but at least that time, they sealed in the memory of that first night at Flux … the night she became a Spectre. The night she met the best friend she'd made since Jon …. She turned away from the wash of red, the warm splatter ….

She paused to take her meds, wishing she'd brought another syringe. So much wasted time. She stabbed the needle right through the leathers into her thigh then leaned back, resting as it took effect. Reaching into the pocket in the leathers, she dragged out the pictures, holding them in front of the grate, using the light to sort through them. There it was. A wide grin mirrored the ones beaming out at her from the glossy paper. Her team, still new enough to be excited by the adventure. They'd yet to meet the Thorian or step into the disaster of Noveria … yet to lose one of those lovely faces.

She traced a fingertip over Ash.

" _So, what do you say, Skipper? Drink with us. We can recover from the hangovers on the way to Therum."_

_Shepard glanced over at the turian standing off to one side, still unsure about where he fit with the rest. Shaking her head, she pushed away the shot. "Sorry, bad form for the captain to get shit-faced with the crew before the mission."_

" _So, it's all right afterwards?" the chief asked, her laugh biting through the words._

" _Of course." Shepard spun on her toes and popped a hand over her head in a half-wave, half jaunty salute "By the end, you'll all have seen me naked."_

" _I look forward to that, ma'am, but not as much as Alenko."_

" _Chief!"_

_She chuckled at Kaidan's indignance. Maybe by the time she felt comfortable to drink with them, Kaidan would have stopped falling for Ashley's bait. Their laughter chased her out the door._

_Garrus joined her by the time she reached the cab stand. "So, the range?" he asked, appearing at her elbow._

" _Sure, but first, I need to go back to the ship. I need to get my Volkov and … well, I need my lucky scarf." She grinned at the incredulous sound that tumbled from his throat. "What? We've just met. I need to make a good impression."_

She traced Ashley's face again, then slipped the pictures back into her pocket, taking extra care in sealing it. Leaving pictures on the floor of Aria's apartment seemed a little too much like pushing her luck.

"Not that she won't figure out where the foot locker went if it's there." Swallowing the whisper, she pushed up into a crouch, returning to wraith-mode. She needed to buy a good cloak; she felt naked without it. Too many years spent relying on one in the Alliance. The vent had a lock, but no alarm or cameras. In fact, the only cameras she saw on her scans hung outside the front door.

_Supreme arrogance and assurance, thy name is Aria._

Or maybe paranoia. Cameras used to watch others could always be turned against their owner.

Or maybe Aria just owned nothing worth stealing. She dropped to the floor, taking a cursory look around. The apartment stood empty … of people—the only guards outside the elevator at the other end of the floor—but also, just empty. Austere would get chalked up in the understatement of the decade column. Clearly, Aria did not spend much time there, and if she entertained, they all needed to stand. Two chairs sat to either side of a tiny dining table and a single couch occupied the space across from a huge vid screen. It all looked very expensive, but that was it, other than the sideboard and a few plants.

She confirmed her guess about arrogance and assurance, finding her foot locker sitting on a sideboard in the front room, propped open like a trophy. Fingertips grasped the lid to shut it; she could catalog the contents back in the mine. But then she caught sight of ragged multicolor tassels and froze. Her lucky scarf. She pulled it out, twining it around her neck in two practiced flips. Closing the locker, she lifted it from the table.

A long, low groan echoed through the empty apartment. "Ow." Yep, she should have brought another syringe. Ah well, nothing to do but lug the thing home. Sweet and fluffy lord, it seemed like such a very long, long way.

By the time she reached the mine, it was a good thing that she was too far out to draw attention with the near-screaming litany of agony. She dumped the thing at the end of her cot and collapsed face down, fumbling for her med case.

"I'll be out to look after you ladies when I stop bleeding from my liver, spleen, and all orifices," she mumbled in answer to the goats' bleating, her words muffled by her pillow and the ends of her scarf.

Lifting her head only far enough to monitor the volume of meds she sucked into the syringe, she reached behind her once it was full, and stabbed it into her backside. "Ow."

She turned her head to the side and let her eyelids sag shut.

" _You're going to the range dressed like that?" Garrus made a strangled sort of laugh as Shepard stepped out of her quarters._

_She stopped and held out her arms, her Volkov gripped in one hand, looking down at her gorgeous new dress and heels. "What? There's something wrong with how I look?" She straightened the bulky, knit scarf wrapped around her neck._

_He shook his head, his expression innocent but for the constant flick of his mandibles. "No. Nothing at all."_

" _Hey, smart ass." She punched his shoulder as she strode past. "I just bought this thing, and I won't get a chance to wear it for … ages … and I am killing it in this shade of red, so … respect the silk!" She wriggled her ass a little on the way to the stairs. "I know … humans, not your thing, but trust me, I. am. killing. it!"_

_Garrus laughed and followed her. "I think it might be the scarf. Are you sure it matches the rest?"_

_She let out a loud and unladylike snort. "Luck matches everything my friend. Luck matches everything."_

_They arrived at the C-Sec range and filled a few targets with holes, their conversation easy and relaxed and centered around shooting. Well, mostly it consisted of heckling one another and trying to get the other to miss. She was just setting up for her third target when she noticed the stares of the C-Sec officers and trainees using the other booths._

" _What?" she demanded. "Never seen a woman in silk and high heels mastering a Volkov so skillfully?"_

_Garrus just shrugged, his chuckle joining the rest of them, his throat making a subvocal rumble she was beginning to recognize as "I told you so"._

_Shepard shoved the scarf up onto her head, a giant, fluffy headband, and struck a pose. "You're all just jealous that you can't pull this look off." She winked at a beefy, blonde kid, then turned back to her target. "And you're just jealous I look this good and shoot so well, Vakarian."_

" _Maybe I'm jealous that I don't have a lucky scarf," he shot back. "What does it take to make a scarf lucky, anyway?"_

_She breathed out, paused and squeezed the trigger. "My mother knit this for me when I was nine or ten. The kids at school teased me because it was a bunch of weird colours … all the ends from different skeins of wool she'd used for bigger projects." She let the recoil settle, then took another breath and squeezed off a shot. "I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I wore it out of the house every day." She shrugged then fired off another shot. "We were farmers; they worked full days, and so to make birthday or christmas presents they'd stay up after I went to bed … working sometimes for months, you know? Anyway, I used to take the scarf off once I was far enough from the house that Mom wouldn't see."_

_She flicked the safety and lifted the Volkov into clear position. "Clear." She lowered it and turned to face him. "When the Alliance found me the morning after the batarians raided the colony, all I took away were the clothes on my back, a wooden keepsake box my father carved for me, and this damned, embarrassing scarf." Shoving it off her head, she ran the pulled and ratty length through her hands. "It's been with me ever since."_

She woke to bleating and lifted her head, a forefinger swiping at the drool collected in the corner of her mouth and soaked into the pillow under her cheek. "Coming," she called, voice thick with sleep and meds. It echoed back, making her wince. Did she sound like that?

She stumbled out to the goat chamber, pausing to toss a leftover chunk of vat protein in with Harold. She fed Coco and Splash and gave them some hugs, brushing them before deciding that the mine had stabilized to a reasonable enough temperature to leave their coats off.

That done, she fed herself—some peas and tomatoes—then set the foot locker on her bed. Her foot locker. Another connection to her life. She frowned and closed her eyes, the fires of the _Normandy_ exploding around her, its death throes giving birth to the monster. The monster … the mouth of death itself.

That thing hadn't left her dreams for a single night. She glanced up at the wall covered in the proof of that. Hundreds of drawings, all the same thing … hundreds of nights waking screaming into the dark, terror so palpable that she could feel its hooks digging into her flesh. Hundreds of days spent forgetting, compartmentalizing the fear enough to fall asleep that night. But she'd slept twice now without the monster making a single appearance. Instead, Garrus had ushered her through the hours, keeping the beast at bay.

She sat cross-legged and peered into the chest, pulling out a book: _The Golden Compass_ by Philip Pullman. Smiling, she ran gentle fingers over the cover. One of her favourites from childhood, she reread it every year, carrying the trilogy everywhere she went. She'd started reading it just before Eden Prime. Once she started hanging out in the cargo bay at night, she took it with her. Sometimes Garrus was busy with his own things, so she sat and read, just enjoying the quiet and the company.

Holding it to her face, she inhaled, but any trace of her scent had vanished. Being dead for two years did that, she supposed. It washed away every trace of who you'd been.

_Except Garrus._

She smiled and lifted a hand to press over his ID plate. Damn ... her tags … she'd forgotten.

A quick rummage through the locker came up empty. Well, it had been a long shot, since she'd been wearing them at the time. Damn. Wearing them … under her armour. She jumped up, wrapped her scarf back around her neck, and hurried for the exit from the mines. Maybe Mordin had them. No … wait … that didn't make sense. Stopping at the edge of a long drop into nothing, she lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck.

She'd died. Stumbling back away from the edge, she ran into a metal scaffolding, the lattice disappearing into the black metres above her head. She'd lost the tags when she died. But what time? What? Clinging to the scaffold, she swayed, dizziness washing over her, heavy and thick, dragging at every thought … tugging them in too many directions at once.

She died over the white planet, her ship dying alongside her, massive particle beams tearing it to shreds. The last thing she heard over the stuttering, slowing beat of her pulse had been Garrus screaming. Screaming louder than the _Normandy_. And then the beast appeared in the flames and swallowed her.

She didn't have tags in that place because she died. She died and because of Torfan, because of all the lives she'd cut short, she remained trapped in purgatory until she atoned and earned heaven.

A numb hand reached up, pressing over the ID plate. But … Garrus. Garrus said he was real. Had he died too? Had something happened to bring him to the darkness and the endless filth?

Pushing off the scaffold, she started down the steep, winding ramp. She needed to talk to Garrus. Nothing made sense. A soft whimper crept up the back of her throat. Nothing made sense at all, and it hadn't since ….

Fire ... gunshots … people screamed. Rough hands shoved her around … the world moved around her, while she stayed still. Explosions, screaming and blood … so much blood … machines … machines cutting people in half with bullets.

"Stop!" She clamped her hands over her ears to block out the screaming … the roar of those terrible guns. "Stop, please. I don't understand anything." And yet, until a handful of days prior, everything _had_ made perfect sense. Four months, she spent her days cleaning up the bad guys. The flood of them never ended. She stumbled, the floor craggy and uneven as the slope flattened suddenly.

Her hand slapped against the wall, her wrist cracking with the impact, but the pain just pricked through the heavy curtain of drugs. How much had she taken, anyway?

Her hand, throbbing wrist and all, made its way to the leather cord around her neck, tugging the plate up out of her armour. Clutching it to her face, she breathed him in, slowly forcing back the storm.

Garrus would know reality from delusion. She just needed to get there. But that woman watched … waiting for her. Miranda Lawson. Miranda Lawson. Garrus had said she worked for Cerberus. Cerberus killed Kahoku. She liked Kahoku. She needed to be careful.

She started finding alarms and traps and cameras a decent distance from Archangel's base. Garrus's base? No, Archangel belonged to Omega and death … a light amidst the filth. Garrus belonged to life … the bright, fake sunlight of the Citadel.

" _I'm sorry." Garrus's mandibles fluttered, but low, dropped, definitely not a smile._

" _Don't be. This scarf saved my life. I was on the ship, set to join the team heading down to Akuze. I caught a cold, just streaming snot, like … buckets. It was disgusting." She grinned at the slightly repulsed expression on his face. "Anyway, the doc refused to clear me for ground ops and every soldier down there died."_

_A confused scowl canted his brow plates toward his nose. "And how did the scarf save you? Your cold saved you."_

" _No, you see, the scarf doesn't do anything … it's a state of being. It exists, therefore its aura of luck surrounds me as long as it's close." She grinned and wrapped it back around her neck._

_Shaking his head as if trying to clear it, Garrus stepped up and pinned his target to the clip. "Has anyone ever insisted you take a psych exam?"_

His vent sat open, the room dark beyond the large, rectangular hole. She paused, listening. Voices, out beyond the shut door. What was she doing there? Why did she expect Archangel—or Garrus—to have answers?

A faint orange glow drew her eyes to the floor of the vent. A datapad. She crept forward, careful to remain silent. She paused in the vent opening, closing her eyes and pulling in a long breath. Dirty armour, sweaty clothes draped over the back of the couch a few metres away … the thick humidity of a shower, the spicy tang of his cleanser … the sweetness of life … all of it. Further proof of her death. Her life smelled of mine and dust … and now goats. No trace of her remained.

Lifting the pad when she reached it, she read the message:

" _Cerberus is hitting the clinic. They're looking for you. Gone to help Dr. Solus. Make yourself at home, look out for the team's security upgrades. Wait for me, Shepard. Spirits, please wait for me."_

A worried frown pinched the skin between her brows: inexhaustible, impossible, irascible Mordin … and Daniel, who'd thought to take care of her goats … Nalah with her kind, blue eyes and broad cheeks. Lifting her eyes to the door on the opposite side of the dark room, she focused on the voices coming from the other side. She recognized the tone common to all of them. Battle high. A victorious one by the sound of it. The time on the pad read nearly six hours before. Once she got somewhere she wouldn't be overheard, she'd message Mordin, make sure they came through okay, but it seemed Archangel had protected them.

Typing quickly, she wrote:

" _Can't stay, sorry. Came because … well, I don't really know why I came. Thought maybe you could help … with something … can't remember what now. I don't know what's real any more. I know I died. Thank you for the tag. It was nice to remember. If you're really Garrus, not Archangel, why are you here? Did you die too? You're supposed to be becoming a Spectre. Bad ass Spectre partners, remember?_

 _Oh, I remember … I went to Aria's … looking for my tags. Found my foot locker. Found_ The Golden Compass _inside. We never got a chance to finish. But, of course Aria wouldn't have my tags. I died with them on._

_I died, Garrus … Archangel. I died, so how can any of this be real? I'm so confused. I'm so scared._

_I miss you."_

She deleted that last line, then retyped it after a few seconds of staring at the pad. The message seemed incomplete without it. Rushing her fingers over the keys, she added her comm frequency just beneath, dropping it before she changed her mind.

He'd said he'd do anything for her. Maybe he could help. Maybe. She turned, dissolving into the deep shadows of the duct, but then stopped after a couple of metres. Both hands grasped at the loose loops of lucky scarf around her neck. She'd done okay without it so far. Unwrapping it, she folded it in four, then returned to slip it under the datapad. Archangel … or Garrus … either one could use the luck more than her.

Besides, she'd died.

And maybe he'd call.


	10. Chapter Ten: Hope, Love, and Cerberus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He reached the top of the stairs, and took a cleansing breath. He knew he'd lose her if he didn't say something, and if she cut the connection, Spirits only know when she'd talk to him again. Swallowing down the fear, he took a leap of faith—something he'd never dreamed of doing before Shepard came into his life. "Shepard, I love you."
> 
> A strangled gasp drew his attention to his left. Melenis stood in the doorway of the second bedroom on the top floor, eyes wide and mouth agape. She looked—and Garrus felt—as if he'd just slapped her in the face. Violet splotches spread over her cheeks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Garrus winced as she retreated into the room and closed the door. The utter silence on the other end of the comm stretched on, each second filling Garrus with a deeper dread.

Written by MosaicCreme with dialogue and action expressions for Shepard provided by MizDirected (some words edited to American English spellings for continuity). Comments are always appreciated and make our day!

Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Precor** \- Damned. Cursed.

**Buratrum** _-_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

**Mabul** \- The turian equivalent of the expletive 'fuck'. Derived from **Irrumabul** \- the word for non-consensual sex specifically between a superior and a subordinate.

**Amarceru** \- the bitter, mud-like tea popular with turians. Popular with quarians but much more dilute.

Garrus stood outside his bedroom door, listening to Butler as the human rehashed his glorious 'moves' against Cerberus. "Go home, Butler. I'm sure Nalah is waiting to thank you for being her hero." He fluttered his mandibles, laughter rumbling through his chest.

Butler grinned lasciviously and waggled his eyebrows. "You bet your turian ass she is. Alright, boss, I'll see you tomorrow. Hey, if Pizza Angel stops by, tell her I love her!"

Chuffing, Garrus shook his head and waved Butler off. Once Butler disappeared from sight, down the stairs, Garrus looked around, assuring himself the door to the other room at the end of the hall remained closed. Mandibles flaring he turned back to his own door, his hand hesitating over the controls.

_Please be in here. Spirits, please._

He palmed the doors controls, and glanced around the room. Disappointment tugged his mandibles, making them droop when he found the room empty. Taking a deep breath, he paused halfway through the threshold.

_Oh, but she was here._

Garrus hurried into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Pulling in slow, deep breaths he scented the air, savoring the faint scent Shepard left behind. He moved to the vent, his eyes landing on the datapad and the old familiar scarf tucked underneath. Carefully, he moved the datapad off of the scarf, afraid he might damage the scarf somehow.

Garrus lifted the scarf with both hands, cradling it as he would an infant. Raising the scarf to his face, he breathed in deep. Turning his head away, he forced the air from his nostrils, clearing the flood of different scents assaulting his nose.

_Aria._

A growl rolled through his chest. What had Aria been doing with Shepard's scarf?

_Spirits, if she wore this I'll rip her throat out … still, I smell Shepard on here, too. Recently. Does she know Aria has Sookie?_

Garrus glanced over the datapad just in case Shepard left him a message as well. A grin spread across his face when he saw that she had. Carrying the scarf and datapad with him, he moved to his bed, settling down on the edge to read. What he read ripped his still beating heart from his chest and lit it on fire, leaving it right in front of his eyes for him to watch burn. A keen tore through his throat, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, cutting it off before it brought Sidonis to his door.

_Pull it together, Garrus. She needs you, she's reaching out. You can't call her sounding like this._

Moving his hand from his mouth, he stroked it over his crest instead. He cleared his throat and turned his comm to her frequency. He hesitated, his talon over the button ready to establish the connection, allowing him to speak to her. Allowing him to hear her voice.

_Will she actually talk?_

Taking a steadying breath, he activated the frequency. "Shepard?"

Her soft breathing came over the comm. "Shepard died, Archangel. She died over a year ago."

Garrus' breath caught in his throat, the sound of her voice after so much time spent thinking he'd never hear it again did more to squeeze his throat closed than even the horror of her words. "Spirits," he whispered. "Yes, _you_ did. But you're not dead now, Shepard. And neither am I."

"Garrus is supposed to be training to become a Spectre." The rumble of movement created static over the connection. "That was our deal. After he let Saleon go … I knew … she knew he was ready."

He winced, reminded of yet another way he'd let her down. "Yes, well, Garrus … hmmm … _I_ tried, Shepard." Pausing, he ran his talons over her scarf. "The Council … _buratrum_ , just all of it. How could I stick around and listen to them act like everything's okay? Like the reapers aren't real?" He leaned back against his pillow, throwing a leg up on the bed and resting her scarf on his chest. "Even after all of that, everything you did to take down Sovereign, they're still calling it a geth attack."

"If there's a constant to the universe, it's the politicians' ability to stick their heads up their asses. They must take yoga or something to stay that spineless." She held the silence for a moment, weighing her words, he thought. "So you gave up? You could have done so much as a Spectre. On Omega …." She let a soft sigh drift out. "Why here?"

The weight of her disappointment crushed him. He thought it over for a second, leaving the channel open so she could hear his breathing, wanting her to know he was still there. Clearing his throat, he hummed. "I couldn't get anyone to listen, I'm just one _torin_ , Shepard. You … you were gone, and no one seemed to care more reapers were coming our way." He fell silent again, the hum picking back up where his words failed him. "I thought I could do some good here. And maybe I am. My team … they've all got reasons to fight, people they loved Omega took from them. I'm helping them as much as I am Omega … . At least that's what I keep telling myself." He pulled the scarf closer to his face, sniffing gently to catch only the freshest scent. "But I'm glad I did, because I wouldn't have been here to find you."

"I'm glad you're here too, and for them." A faint rustling sound filled the comm air. "You kept me … ." Shepard cleared her throat, her voice returning strangled, barely more than a whisper. "Dead is dead. That's the rule, right? The immutable law of the universe."

He fluttered his mandibles, testing his next words out in his head before speaking. "Apparently not." He hoped the refusal of her finality wouldn't upset her. "I don't know how Cerberus did it, Shepard, and to be honest … hmm … what's the human saying? I'm not going to examine a hoofed quadruped's molars too closely." Garrus tilted his head to the side, his brow plates pulling down. Shaking his head lightly, he hummed again. "Wait, no, that's not right. You know what I mean."

He sat forward, pushing himself further up on his pillows. "The point is, Shepard. You're real. You're alive, flesh and blood. Call it a miracle, or just a miracle of science if you want but there's no way I'm not sticking around to keep you that way."

Shepard chuckled, the sound loosening some of the tension the last few days built up in Garrus' chest. The worry easing a little, he let himself sink into the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut.

_If she can still laugh, even a little, then there's hope._

"You're not going to look a gift horse in the mouth?" She sighed softly. "The whole reason that saying was coined is because sometimes gifts come broken. If I am alive … if this isn't some sort of punishment for the lives I've taken or destroyed ... ." Shepard fell silent, a faint clicking followed by a soft rustle the only sound to be heard. "I don't remember much. The pictures help a little. I remembered Ash … the stupid party when I was made a Spectre."

"Hmm … you may not remember, but I happen to be _precor_ good at fixing broken things." He flicked his mandibles, hoping his humor translated through voice alone. "You're a person though, Shepard, you're not broken. You're wounded … and wounds can be healed. Dr. Solus said there's more he can do for you, but you're not letting him." He chuffed, fighting back the urge to insist she listen to the doctor.

"I'd like to think the term was coined because someone out there's smart enough to know to be grateful for a gift, even if it's not in the best condition." He choked back another keen trying to work its way up through his throat, thinking about Shepard's condition. Thinking about seeing her laying in the hospital bed, terrible, glowing red cuts and half-healed scars covering every inch of her body he could see. "I don't even have the words to tell you what it meant to me, learning you were alive." Pain and longing flooded him; choking him despite his best intentions. His voice dropped with the strain, barely above a whisper. "Why couldn't you stay tonight?"

_Spirits, I wish you were here. Please, Shepard, please come back. I need you here with me._

"It …" She seemed to stumble with her words. "It's all …." The comm fell silent, her unsteady breathing the only indication she remained. "Until I saw you in that alley, I had it all figured out. I'd died and appeared here. I figured with as dark and ugly as this place was, cleaning it up would eventually buy my way to somewhere better. You've tossed all that into the air. I don't know what's real." A guttural sort of half snort rumbled through the comm. "Why me? Why bring me back? It just doesn't make any sense."

_What can I possibly say to that? Can't it just be enough they_ did _bring_ you _back? Why not you, Shepard?! There's no one, not a single person to have ever lived more deserving of a second chance than you. Whatever their reasons,_ precor _, you_ earned _this._

"I don't know, Shepard. But we'll find out, alright? We'll figure out what the _mabul_ Cerberus wants with you … and then we'll kick their asses." He fell quiet for a minute, letting his words sink in for the both of them. "I know you're having trouble believing you're real. _Buratrum_ , I think I would too if I were in your place. But try to at least believe I'm real. And I'm here for you. Anything you need."

Garrus hummed, wishing more than anything that he could see her. "Spirits, it's so good to hear your voice again." He picked up the scarf, running it through his fingers and chuckled. "You were wearing this horrible scarf when we went to the C-Sec range after we left that party. Said it was lucky."

"You made fun of me." She chuckled, barely loud enough to be heard on his end. "I want to believe you're real. You were … ." She swallowed audibly before continuing, "... always the most real …." Shepard scoffed. "Color in a world long gray." Movement from her end filled the pause. "I found The Golden Compass. We never finished it." Another soft chuckle filtered through. "You asked so many damned questions. We were lucky to get half a chapter read."

"Hmmm. So read to me now. I'll shut up and just listen, it's possible, I swear." He smiled up at the ceiling, already wanting to ask her a million more questions; none of them about the book. If reading helped her, if it grounded her though, then he'd stay quiet and cherish every last word.

"I'll believe that when I get more than three lines without being interrupted." She paused briefly. "Droney. Light, please."

"Droney? Wait, nevermind, I'm shutting up." He chuffed again.

"It's a fine name, now shush." The old familiar sound of Shepard opening her book, the creak of old binding and rustle of paper filtered across the open channel. "So, Lyra and Pan had shown up at the facility in the north after being separated from the Gyptians and Iorek Byrnison." She cleared her throat a little dramatically. "My voice is pretty craggy, but … Chapter Sixteen, The Silver Guillotine."

As quietly as he could, he started slipping off the plates of his armor. Her voice soothing his tired soul the way nothing else had been able to since she died; not fighting, not praying, not even brandy.

She began reading. " _Lyra ducked her head at once under the shelter of her wolverine hood, and shuffled in through the double doors with the other children. Time enough later to worry about what she'd say when they came face to face: she had another problem to deal with first, and that was how to hide her furs where she could get at them without asking permission."_

He tossed his gloves to the table next to him and settled back into bed, pulling the covers over him. Tucking her scarf in around his cowl, he settled the piece of his old bedsheet—now heavily frayed from his frequent need to trace the bloody handprint—on his pillow, gently placing his palm down over it, trying to imagine the feel of her soft skin beneath his rough callouses, fragile bones bending to wrap her fingers around his.

" _But luckily, there was such disorder inside, with the adults trying to hurry the children through so as to clear the way for the passengers from the zeppelin, that no one was watching very carefully. Lyra slipped out of the anorak, the leggings, and the boots and bundled them up as small as she could before shoving through the crowded corridors to her dormitory._ " She sounded very much like her old self, her breathing and words falling into a steady, familiar rhythm.

* * *

Garrus woke to the gentle sounds of Shepard's easy breathing. Staying in bed just to listen to her a little longer, he squeezed his eyes closed, letting the rise and fall of his own chest match the sounds coming from his comm. He felt terrible about falling asleep on her while she read, but he couldn't help but to smile knowing she'd left the comm open all night despite his snoring.

_She sounds so peaceful. Must still be sleeping._

The gravity of his warm bed pulled at him, the soft breathing of the woman he loved holding him in place. With his eyes closed, he could imagine she was right there next to him. He didn't want to face the cold realities waiting for him outside of his bedroom door. Garrus just wanted to stay locked in there, snuggled in bed with Shepard's scarf around his neck, listening to her _exist_. But he knew if he didn't get up soon, it'd only be a matter of time before one of his team knocked on his door, and if it happened to be Weaver, she wouldn't hesitate to hack through the locks if he didn't answer.

Suppressing a growl of complaint, he muted his mic so he wouldn't disturb Shepard and sat up. Halfway through getting dressed, he heard her voice muttering something he couldn't quite make out. Pausing, his gloves in hand, he cocked his head to the side and listened.

After a moment of silence, her voice filtered through the comm clear enough for him to hear. "... that rumble mean?"

Garrus' brow plates dipped, his mandibles flaring as he continued to listen, trying to make sense of what she said.

"Liar." Shepard chuckled, the sound warm but distant. "... blushing under those plates … ."

Garrus chuffed, heat creeping through his chest and up his throat as he realized she was talking about him. _Dreaming_ about him. A slow grin lifted his mandibles as he slid his gloves on, moving on to his armor. Tucking the mementos he carried with him down inside his shirt, he situated the scarf so it laid flat enough against his cowl to hide under his armor without bunching and pressing into him uncomfortably. He secured his armor and left the room, a grin still plastered to his face.

Erash met Garrus at the top of the steps, his eyes widening. "Archangel, I was just coming to wake you up. Ripper said you wouldn't get up until one of us made you … ."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles and raised his brow plates. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize for the team's hazing—they loved their ritual—when Shepard began to hum in his ear. Broken, and muffled the tune just barely audible enough for him to make out. She'd called it _Scarborough Fair_ , and said her mother used to sing it all the time when Shepard was a kid. Garrus didn't know how many times he'd heard her hum that song absently while she worked on filling out reports or cleaning her weapons. Hearing it now filled his chest with warmth, his heart swelling with hope.

"Ah. Of course." Erash turned and started back down the stairs, muttering to himself. "Note to self: the turian in charge _does not_ need someone to wake him up, and don't trust the krogan."

Garrus chuckled and followed Erash down the stairs, still listening to the sweet sound of Shepard's sleeping voice. "How are you settling in?"

Looking back over his shoulder, Erash blinked and shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. It's an adjustment. I'm just glad to be away from Dr. Solus and his scans."

Garrus hummed and nodded his head, patting Erash on the shoulder as he moved past him at the foot of the stairs. "I think you'll do fine." He turned, walking backwards a few steps and lifted his shoulders, arms splayed out at his sides. "And if not, I guess I know where to take you. I'm sure Dr. Solus will be happy for the company."

Monteague approached Erash from behind, stopping to rest his arm on the salarian's shoulder and shook his head. "After all this time, he still thinks he's funny. Have you eaten?"

Garrus turned back around, making his way to the kitchen. "What are you talking about? I'm hilarious." He glanced over his shoulders, mandibles fluttering with his grin.

Pouring himself a cup of _amarceru_ , Garrus carried it to the table and settled in to read the morning news from his omni-tool. His smile faded, dipping low into a frown when he saw reports of two more human colonies being attacked in the last couple of months, the colonials all missing, gone without a trace. Meals were left behind, half eaten, cars left running … just like everyone got up and walked away. Garrus rumbled and took a sip of his _amarceru_.

Melenis settled into the chair across from him, a bowl of fruit sitting in front of her along with a cup of steaming tea. "Bad news?"

"Hmmm." Garrus took another sip and closed his omni-tool, looking up at Melenis. "More human colonies have gone missing. Same as before, everyone just gone. No sign of where they went or why. All here in the Terminus Systems, outside of Alliance and Council jurisdiction."

Melenis lifted her cup to her mouth, blowing across the surface before taking a sip. "Pirates? Slavers?"

Garrus shook his head. "No, I don't think so. These colonies weren't looted. Not much sign of struggle, either."

Melenis watched him over the rim of her cup. "So what are you thinking? It's a little beyond the scope of Omega, Garrus, but it clearly has you worried. Do you think the reapers are involved?"

"I doubt it. Sovereign and his puppet always left things looking like a horror show, not a crime mystery." Garrus shook his head again, trying to stave off the thoughts of humans on spikes being turned to husks. "Wrong M.O. Unless destroying Sovereign changed something … forced their hands and made them consider other alternatives."

"What does Commander Shepard think?" Melenis' voice took on a cold edge, that didn't go unnoticed, even if her features remained smooth.

Garrus hesitated, letting the air around him tell him a little more about Melenis' sudden shift in tone. The bitter tang of jealousy mixed with hurt tainted the air. He let out a weary sigh. "I'm not sure she knows. She uh, she's not really in the best condition right now." Picking up his mug, he took a heavy swallow to buy him a few seconds. "Melenis, listen … ."

Melenis sat her cup down and leaned forward, cutting Garrus off. "Don't. Really, I get it. I'm … I'm glad she's alive, Garrus. I know how important she is to you. That's all that matters. Help her get better, that's all you need to worry about. I've got your six in the meantime."

Garrus flared his mandibles, not really sure what to say so he just nodded instead. She stood up and carried her dishes to the sink, rinsing them before leaving the kitchen. Garrus watched her go, noting the stiffness of her spine, and the square set of her shoulders. As much as Melenis liked to disappear into the background, the asari had a way of pulling every eye in the room to her when her mood soured.

A few moments passed before others filled the void she left, joining Garrus at the table to chat about the fight with Cerberus the day before and their newest squad member. He let the noise surround him, not really taking any of it in as he stared at the empty doorway.

_Spirits I hope she can deal with having Shepard around. I hope they all can, because I'll be_ precor _if I have to choose between them and her._

Shepard's voice breaking through his comm tore his attention away from the door. "... think you'd like Garrus … a lot alike, Papa." Her tone shifted, taking on the familiar hint of her teasing. "Stubborn."

Garrus chuckled, drawing the eye of Erash and Weaver. He flared his mandibles and covered it with a cough. He could hear her tossing and turning, he thought she must be waking up.

Unmuting his mic, he pushed his chair away from the table. Garrus moved to the sink, settling his mug down in the basin, trying to give himself some space from prying eyes and ears. "Good morning. Hey, uh, sorry I fell asleep on you last night."

"Oh!" The simple word, gasped more than spoken, lead into a long silence broken only by her yawn. "That was real?"

Garrus fluttered his mandibles, glancing over his shoulder at his squad sitting around the table eating their breakfast. Slipping out of the kitchen, he stopped to lean over the back of the empty couch. "I sure hope so. Listening to you read again was the highlight of my year. How'd you sleep?"

The silence stretched on, uncertainty filling her voice when she spoke again, "Fine. The monster didn't come."

"Monster?! Shepard, what monster? Is someone bothering you down there?" Garrus pushed himself upright, talons digging into the back of the couch.

"When I died, I saw a huge reaper, wreathed in flame and ... . It swallowed me. It'll swallow everything." Shepard trailed off, the catch of her breath telling Garrus she wasn't done talking but needed a moment to collect her thoughts. "Too many puzzles … no boxes with pretty pictures to help put them together. I don't know what's real."

Her voice trembled. "It swallowed me, it lives inside my dreams … kills me over and over every night." A faint thwacking echoed over the comm before she continued, her voice softening. "I think I loved him. That's why you're here. That's why all this is getting mixed up."

His heart stalled, skipping a beat before stuttering back to life, pounding against his ribs. "Shepard ... there wasn't … I—You think … ." He stopped, clearing his throat to steady his racing thoughts and quell the jolts of lightning coursing through his veins.

_Did … did she just say she loved me?_

"There wasn't a reaper there, at least not one anyone else saw. Maybe the trauma triggered a vision from the prothean beacon?" He let his words linger in the air, afraid to address the rest of what she said; afraid he might be wrong about what she meant. Before he could snap his jaws down on the words, they wriggled their way free of his mouth anyway. "You loved … Garrus?"

"He was color in a world that went gray when Jon …." She cut herself off. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. All those silly dreams about what might happen … about being Spectres and … they don't matter now. I died." A strangled sort of sob rolled through the mic. "Just a silly girl with a crush on … should have known better. Still just a silly girl trying to hang on to the few beautiful things."

Hesitation stilled her breath, wariness weighing down her voice when she continued, "You're on the radio. You're real?" Shepard paused again. "I don't … I don't understand." She moaned softly, her voice teetering on the edge of a whimper.

His heart lurched in his chest, he was about to lose her, he could feel it. "Don't hang up, Shepard. Spirits, please don't hang up." Garrus let the words rush from his mouth. Glancing up, he saw Butler enter the base, a stupid grin on his face. Garrus lowered his voice and moved to the stairs. "I am real, Shepard, and so are you." He hesitated, wondering if telling her that he loved her would help her or hurt her. The confusion tearing him in two different directions, like sharp talons digging into his throat, strangling him.

He reached the top of the stairs, and took a cleansing breath. He knew he'd lose her if he didn't say something, and if she cut the connection, Spirits only know when she'd talk to him again. Swallowing down the fear, he took a leap of faith—something he'd never dreamed of doing before Shepard came into his life. "Shepard, I love you."

A strangled gasp drew his attention to his left. Melenis stood in the doorway of the second bedroom on the top floor, eyes wide and mouth agape. She looked—and Garrus felt—as if he'd just slapped her in the face. Violet splotches spread over her cheeks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Garrus winced as she retreated into the room and closed the door. The utter silence on the other end of the comm stretched on, each second filling Garrus with a deeper dread.

"Garrus?" A slow breath blew across Shepard's mic, whistling in Garrus' aural canal.

Locking down the keen rising through his chest, a soft whine escaped his throat. "Yes, Shepard. It's me, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He made his way to his room, sitting down heavily on his bed behind locked doors.

"I need to feed Coco and Splash, but …." She gulped. "And if this is all real … I need to find Cerberus. I need answers." She halted, sounding more firm when she continued, "Miranda Lawson."

Garrus flicked his mandibles, chuffing lightly. "You know … a lesser man, under different circumstances would be devastated after saying something like that, only to have you worry about your goats … so I guess it's a good thing it's me we're talking about." He chuckled, trying to ease his own pounding heart and trembling hands. "Go, take care of Coco and Splash. Maybe you'll let me meet them one of these days." Standing back up, he ran a hand over his crest. His voice losing the playful edge he said, "But Shepard, let me handle Cerberus. I'll get you your answers. You're in no condition to be out there taking them on alone right now."

Shepard scoffed, following it with a light cackle. "Like that ever stopped me. Remember that geth destroyer on … oh hell, whatever that backwater planet was … slammed me so hard I flew ten meters. Still finished the mission." She sighed. "Later … call me and we'll meet to talk. But … no funny business. I need … just let me figure this all out at my own speed, okay? No tranqing me and dragging me back to Mordin, or whatever."

Garrus shook his head, resignation filling his voice. He knew there's no point in arguing with her. It just meant he'd have to beat her to Cerberus. "Yeah … I remember. No tranquilizers, got it. And ah … no funny business of any other sort."

"All right. Even though the specificness of the no tranquilizers is less than encouraging." A soft, almost sobbing chuckle broke her moment of silence. "I feel like I need to draft a list." When her laughter dissipated, the humor in her voice went with it. "So … let me know when you've got some time and privacy. I'll meet you halfway somewhere."

Garrus chuckled. "A list of demands, huh? Hmmm … I guess I can work with that. Anything you need, Shepard. I'll call you tonight when things settle down."

"Okay." A slow, shuddering breath rocked the mic. "And yes … yes, I loved Garrus. He was always my air when I thought I couldn't catch my breath … when the whole thing felt like it was suffocating me." After hesitating for another second, she closed the channel.

* * *

It took him the better part of the day, and thousands of credits in bribes, but Garrus finally found a solid lead on Cerberus. Miranda Lawson and her goons were holed up in the back of a warehouse, renting space from Symtech, the shipping and receiving company that owned the place. He couldn't go in guns ablazing as much as he wanted to; there were too many civilians working inside. Besides, if Cerberus knew heard him coming it would just give Lawson a chance to slip away again or get rid of any intel they had on Shepard, and that's what he really wanted after all.

So, he set up a stakeout a few buildings down and waited for the warehouse to empty out for the night. He wasn't foolish enough to think Cerberus would leave the warehouse with the workers, but if he got lucky—and he had Shepard's lucky scarf—they'd grow complacent enough as the night wore on to let their guard down.

He had to pick his team carefully. Infiltration was always Shepard's thing. He'd much rather stay back, someplace up high preferably, with his sniper rifle. Sure, his military training covered infiltration, and he'd put those skills to use a time or two with C-Sec, but it wasn't where he felt comfortable. Butler and Ripper definitely weren't up to the task, but he could station them outside somewhere. If things went sideways, he'd want his strong arms to be able to reach his team. He hadn't tested Erash in the field yet, and the mission meant too much to Garrus to take the risk. Garrus didn't want to take in too many either, the more people he had moving around in there the more likely someone would be spotted.

_Hmmm … Sidonis, Krul, Monteague … maybe Melenis. No. This is still too raw for her. She's the only biotic I have, though. She'll have to go. Melenis is good, she can keep things separate._

When the time came, Garrus led his infiltration team in through the loading entrance around back of the warehouse. The only light came from the rooms at his three o'clock, the rest of the building loomed with shadowy silhouettes of machinery and crates his eyes barely made out. Stopping to disable the security feed control box on the back wall, Garrus sent Monteague and Melenis to flank while he crept along the wall with Krul and Sidonis at his six.

Laughter reached his aural canals, distorted through the metal walls, alerting him to the presence of guards stationed nearby before he could see them. Garrus reached the end of the wall and peered around the open doorway, doing his best to stay to the shadows. Two Cerberus commandos stood in the hall a few feet away to his nine o'clock, their backs turned to the door. Waving Krul and Monteague up, he signaled them to take the two guards down quietly.

Krul crept forward, staying low to avoid the windows lining the hall, opening his omni-tool as he went. Monteague moved into place on the opposite wall, and when Krul signaled, both men leapt forward. Krul shoved his palm into the back of the first guard's head, his omni-tool sizzling with electricity, temporarily paralyzing the guard. Monteague wrapped his arms around the other guard's throat, putting him in a chokehold. The commando fought, clawing desperately at Monteague's arms as he lost consciousness, his weight collapsing against Monteague who guided him down to the floor.

Garrus and the others moved in to help secure and gag the guards, pulling them back into the darkness of the main room and leaving them propped against a crate. Moving back into the hall, Garrus took up position next to the first office door, sending Sidonis and Monteague further down to scout ahead. Melenis and Krul waited opposite Garrus, on the other side of the door.

Peering through the cracks in the drawn blinds, Garrus saw two more Cerberus troops inside sitting at a desk ignoring the dead security feeds on the static filled monitors as they played cards. Garrus shook his head in disbelief. Monteague signaled that the second room further down stood empty. Garrus nodded at them, encouraging them to move to the end of the hall.

"It breaks right to another hall, boss. More offices. Want us to keep going?" Sidonis radioed back.

Garrus pitched his voice low, barely above a whisper knowing the Sidonis would hear him just fine if Monteague couldn't. "No, come on back. I don't want anyone getting separated in here. I've got a couple of guards down on this end."

Melenis caught Garrus' eye and held up a suppressor for him to see. Garrus nodded, and she attached it to the muzzle of her pistol before nodding back. Garrus waited for Sidonis and Monteague to make it back to them before palming the door control. Melenis turned into the door as it opened, smirking at the two guards as they looked up at the sound. Before they could open their mouths to sound the alarm, Melenis lifted her pistol and put one in each of their heads. She moved into the room, and fired once more into the second guard still twitching on the floor.

"Idiots should've kept their helmets on," Melenis said, moving back out of the room.

Garrus poked his head in, long enough to determine he wouldn't find anything of interest to his mission, before leading his team down to the next door. The soft glow of a couple of computer terminals broke the darkness of the room. The shipping company's logo spun around on the screens. Doubting Cerberus used Symtech's terminals, he decided to leave them for the time being and pressed on to the junction, peering around the edge.

The hall remained clear, so they moved on. Checking each room as they went, they dealt with any Cerberus troops they encountered along the way, when they couldn't simply be avoided. Finally, they reached an office—thirteen dead or disabled Cerberus commandos later—just outside of the line of sight where the maze of halls opened back up into a larger room, with a single laptop sitting on a desk. The Cerberus logo emblazoned on the back of the laptop's lid stood out like a beacon. The lights were on in the empty room, a cup of still steaming coffee sat on the desk. Whoever used the office would likely soon return.

"I count another ten in here, plus it looks like three in lab coats. That Lawson woman is at the far end of the room talking to them." Monteague's voice hissed in Garrus' earpiece. "My credits are on that being her office, and I don't think we're going to have time to poke around at your leisure, boss. What's the call?" He paused, letting his words sink in. "I've got a bead on Lawson from my twenty."

Garrus flared his mandibles, weighing out the pros and cons. Fifteen wasn't too many for his team to handle, but they'd passed by at least ten others they avoided completely. If the alarm sounded, they'd be boxed in, with their backup all the way at the back entrance. "Krul, get on it, see if you can pull it and take it with us without losing anything or having it tracked back to the base. Monteague, hold your fire."

* * *

Garrus sat at his desk, the Cerberus laptop open in front of him. Krul had taken care of the tracking, and disabled all security measures. He would've been able to get more if he'd been able to look over the laptop while connected to Cerberus' network, but Garrus had to make a call. He hoped he made the right one.

His heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach and stayed there the entire time he dug through the files on _Project Lazarus_. Reading about the condition they'd received Shepard's body in, kept his throat clenched, making him gasp for air. Progress reports detailing the numerous surgeries and implants they'd put inside of her made his plates itch and ache.

The attached files caught him by surprise. They spoke about the string of human colony attacks in the Terminus Systems, stating a suspicion that the collectors were responsible. Conjecture about what the collectors might want with thousands of human subjects was left to a minimum, but the files made it clear Cerberus thought Shepard could stop the attacks from happening.

The worst, though … the worst hit him when he learned someone from the _Normandy_ turned Shepard's body over to Cerberus. The files didn't name her, only referring to them as 'she.' Discounting Liara, Tali, and Dr. Chakwas, that left … he didn't even know how many of the nameless, faceless Alliance crew there'd been keeping the _Normandy_ running smoothly. It had to be one of them. Garrus refused to believe any of those he worked with, day in and day out, would turn to Cerberus, even in desperation to bring Shepard back. He certainly never would've …

_Are you sure about that?_

Garrus let out a weary sigh and leaned back in his chair, changing frequencies he pushed the button to call Shepard. "Shepard? Are you awake? We need to talk."


	11. Chapter Eleven: The Butcher of Torfan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archangel loved her? No, no, no. Angels didn't love people. Not like that. Angels guided and protected. They stood apart. People loved.
> 
> Archangel wasn't standing apart. The voice on that radio had declared his love. Spirits … to steal an expletive from the aforementioned angel. She scrubbed the heels of her hands across her brow, thumping hard and quick, trying to knock the pieces into place. Nothing made sense. Somehow, she needed to force it to make sense.

 

**Written by: MizDirected**

**TW for graphic violence, death, child abuse and slavery in the context of busting up the bad guys.**

**Perir** \- Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

**Nais** \- An asari over the age of majority (40)

Archangel loved her? No, no, no. Angels didn't love people. Not like that. Angels guided and protected. They stood apart. People loved.

Archangel wasn't standing apart. The voice on that radio had declared his love. Spirits … to steal an expletive from the aforementioned angel. She scrubbed the heels of her hands across her brow, thumping hard and quick, trying to knock the pieces into place. Nothing made sense. Somehow, she needed to force it to make sense.

_Garrus loves._

She looked up as Coco and Splash stepped up their breakfast symphony to something that nearly tore her ears right off her head. Despite the auditory torture, a soft caress of a smile brushed her lips. He wanted to meet them. She wondered what he'd make of her new friends. Smile stretching into a grin, she activated her omnitool to check the chrono. Early, yet. She stretched, long, languid, and agonizing. Despite groaning as a thousands flechettes sliced through skin and muscle, she welcomed the pain. It anchored the floating feeling left behind by her wake up call. Nothing like a bit of agony to push back the bonkers.

_Or make it worse._

She kicked off the quilt and swung her legs over the side of her cot. Deft hands, nearly five months into the habit of it, reached for her syringe case. Opening it revealed the need to return to Mordin's clinic within the next day. She rolled her eyes and sighed, her brain able to supply the lecture that would accompany her overuse of the painkillers.

_If pain that problematic, come to clinic. Larger issues at work. Simply covering the pain insufficient._

At least Mordin's lectures tended toward the short and sweet. She stretched again before giving herself the shot right through the commando leathers. Almost too comfortable, they allowed her to be both unforgivably lazy and avoid some of the inevitable agony of life. Dressing and undressing stretched and scraped and just … hurt like hell. Not to mention the challenge of doing up buckles and stays without pads on her fingertips.

She sighed as the burn of the meds dissipated, slowly replaced by the cool calm of relief. Thank the dear and fluffy lord for painkillers. She needed her mind at least mostly clear to puzzle through all the craziness that came along with that conversation.

_Trust Garrus to kick with the spur before 0630._

_Garrus? Not Archangel?_

She tugged on her boots, pulling her knee up and hooking her heel on the edge of the cot. She reached around her leg to pull the laces tight. Okay. So, if Garrus rather than Archangel spoke to her just a few minutes before, that meant either she was alive or Garrus was dead.

_Can't be Garrus. I am dead. Aren't I dead? How can Garrus be here if I'm dead? If all this is real, did I just defeat Saren to end up in hell? Is that my reward?_

_Focus, for fuck's sake._

Pressing her eyes closed, she shoved the million and a half questions out of her head, forming a bottleneck to let one through at a time.

Two options, right? She remained convinced of her own demise, so that meant she supported the latter. Right. Garrus was dead. Except, he seemed pretty damned adamant about the former. But how? How? She knocked her brow against her knee until the pain overwhelmed the impossible possibilities buzzing around the inside of her skull. Blood gleamed bright red on the dark leather. People stayed dead.

_Then what is with all the wounds and the failing organs? Unless the God your parents believed in is a complete asshole, wounds belong to the living, and the scraps of you that are left seem to indicate brought back from the dead._

She swiped the blood off onto two fingertips.

_Looks real. Do dead people bleed in purgatory?_

_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I need to focus._

"Droney?" The little ball of light and force fields zipped around to hover in front of her. "Help me out here, buddy. Proposition A: Garrus is right, and Cerberus brought me back." She traded feet, but her hands trembled too hard to manage the laces. Sniffing, she leaned her brow against her knee. "But how? How? Dead is dead. I don't remember anything from the moment the monster swallowed me. There's supposed to be something after." She swiped at her nose, a streak of red smeared across the back of her hand.

_Really? You're going to base your reality on the presence or absence of some fairy tale ending your parents promised you a decade and a half ago?_

Right. Evidence. Scientific proof. If she was alive … if Garrus was right, then she'd be able to find proof. Easy. Gather the facts, test the hypothesis, and that meant finding Cerberus. "Droney, please monitor station communications and extranet searches. Keywords: Cerberus, Miranda Lawson, resurrection, VI implantation, AI implantation …." She struggled to think of anything else through the panic that VI or AI implantation provoked. Surely, she couldn't have escaped if they'd brought back a puppet. She'd end it herself if she had Cerberus's hand shoved up her ass.

_And do that to Garrus?_

_What will hurt him more? Loving some machine that just thinks it's Shepard? Or accepting that the woman he loved—dear lord, he loved me—is dead?_

Squeezing her eyes closed yet again, she concentrated on breathing until her thoughts lined up and marched straight. Good little soldiers, all in a row. March. March. March.

_Focus!_

Right. "Ummm … that'll do for a start. Thanks, buddy."

She shook her hands out to still their trembling, then tackled her laces, wincing as the bones in her fingertips scraped inside her gloves—damn, Mordin needed to repad her fingers and probably her toes—and pushed up off the bed. Once she'd made her girls comfortable, she needed cash. Pausing at her treasure chest, she lifted the lid. Pretty damned dry. Not enough to feed herself and Harold plus pay for meds and care.

"Droney, before you start on the Cerberus research, give me the crime reports for the past twenty-four hours. Prepare the report according to priorities: repeat offenders, vulnerability of victims, and likelihood of finding saleable goods of value." Once the drone blinked into action, she headed out to look after her ladies, her heart rate and mind settling as she allowed chores to replace her worries about Garrus … at least for the second.

She expected both goats to drop their kids within the month, five weeks at the outside. That meant they needed excellent care. No matter how much crazy shit ransacked her life, that she could do. She excelled at taking care of people, even little four hoofed people. And reconnecting with her past helped calm the fear when the nightmares crashed down on her, thick and bloodthirsty. During the first couple of months—when the combination of terror and agony warped every waking moment into a single, drawn out scream—her garden saved her sanity. Focusing on the simple tasks of planting and caring for her vegetables allowed her to block the pain and let the monster drift to the back of her mind.

She paused outside the goat chamber and pressed her hands to the wire gate. "Can you two help me figure out this whole Archangel versus Garrus mess?"

Coco bleated and nuzzled L'oeuf's fingers through the mesh, volunteering. She grinned and opened the gate. "Thanks, sweetie. You're awesome."

By the time she fed them and cleaned out their bedding, replacing the mess with the sweet, fresh combination of shavings and sawdust, Droney beeped in with his report.

"Thanks buddy." She sat on the lowest level of the goat climbing gym and opened her omnitool, Splash assisting with some first rate hair snuffling and nibbling. She chuckled and reached over to rub the doe's ears when Splash's soft, nimble lips started in on the shell of her ear. "Does that taste good?" Gently pushing the goat away, she tossed a few of the dried apple blocks into the center of the large space. "Nibble on those, instead. Trust me, they taste way better than my ears."

Once Splash trotted off after the snacks, L'oeuf turned back to her omnitool. The first item on Droney's report cut a low growl from her throat. "Those little assholes again." She touched the entry. "Get me everything on this one. Check facial recognition, see if those four rugrats I warned the last time are on the feeds in the area of the break in."

Her heart stopped dead when she reached the body of the report. A sharp gasp dragged saliva down her windpipe, dread waterboarding her. "Dear lord." Clotted and slick with phlegm, the words wheezed out between coughing fits. "Two dead? A disabled batarian miner and his mate." Horror wrapped around her bones and tangled through her guts, a barbed net of denial. "They've never killed before." A low groan dragged the net up her throat when she saw that the gang had taken the batarians' three kids. "Oh, fuck."

One last, harsh cough spewed the entire mess out onto the floor. "Kids or not, I should have put them down."

Two months after she appeared on Omega, she stumbled upon an open apartment door. Hearing cries of pain from inside, she investigated, finding a gang of four kids beating up an elderly turian. The tough old _torin_ gave them hell, but they had him on the ground, kicking the plates off of him. She thumped them hard enough to put the fear of L'oeuf into them, then chased them halfway across the station, screaming warnings that bullets would respond to the next incident. When it came to scared straight, batshit crazy horror movie gross psychotic vigilante usually did the trick.

She cleared her throat, swallowing hard. Not that time, apparently. "Droney, old friend, check last two days of camera feeds in that area." She indicated the district she'd tracked the kids to the last time. "Find those little sociopaths."

"Can't let the chaos win, ladies," she said, turning back to the goats. She reached for the curry comb. "There might only be ribbons and scraps of me left, but there's enough to make sure no one else falls victim to these particular scum."

* * *

Two hours of tracking and Droney's fly-over surveillance hit pay dirt when she discovered two of her previous acquaintances in the markets hocking batarian religious trinkets to Harrot. Blocking the doorway, she leaned against the frame and crossed her arms, allowing the full extent of her fury and disgust to bleed through the fiery cracks in her skin. Poisonous magma oozed across the tiles, flowing through the gaps until it washed up against two sets of combat boots sporting untied, neon-coloured laces.

Harrot's beady-eyed gaze darted her direction, bounding away to safety the second it touched. "With sincere terror: May I help—"

Lifting a single, bladed eyebrow, she silenced the shopkeeper without the need for words. The two young females, one human and one batarian, spun around to face her, the colour draining from their faces. Well, all the colour but for the rainbow of yellow, green, and purple bruises painted across most of their exposed skin.

"Fuck." L'oeuf blew out a rough sigh as she pushed off the wall. She jutted her chin toward the merchant. "Give Harrot back his money." When they did as she asked without even a bleat of argument, her gut froze solid. What in the name of holy fuck was going on? Refocusing her stare on the shopkeeper, she pitched her tone to 'give me any shit and I'll break all four legs and shove that cigar up your cloaca'. "Harrot, those goods are linked to a murder. Hand them over." When the elcor hesitated, stiff fingers brushed her pistol grip, a deadly promise.

"Terrified into reluctant cooperation: Very well." He placed the tray of trinkets on the counter, the trembling clatter of plastic against metal staccato and sharp. "With false bravado: Take them and go."

She scooped up the goods, sealing them into her belt pouch. "Thank you, and have a nice day." Clamping a hand down on the ladies' shoulders, L'oeuf herded them through the market to Zullius's restaurant, shoving them down onto stools at the counter. "Hey, Zullius?" she called loud enough to be heard in the back room. Pinning both youngsters with a glare that promised bullets in their knees if they ran, she sat between them.

The turian poked his head out through the curtain, mandibles flicking hard with a wide, genuine grin. "L'oeuf, it's been days. It's good to see you." After a second the smile faded, those eyes moving between the three of them. "You okay?" He nodded back the way he'd come. "I'm not really ready to open."

She slapped her hands down on the counter, feeling a guilty sort of satisfaction when the youngsters jumped. "That's okay, my friend. That's so totally okay. This is an intervention not a reward for shitty behaviour." She sighed. Well, more a growl than a sigh. "Could we get three hot cocoa, please?"

"Yeah, make yourselves at home." His easy grin returned, his mandibles giving a good, hard flick. "Three cocoa with marching melons coming right up."

L'oeuf just shook her head, not taking his bait. "That sounds amazing, thanks."

When the curtain flowed back into the space he'd vacated, L'oeuf glanced to either side. "Okay, ladies. Talk to me. Names first."

Both glanced over their shoulders every two or three seconds, fidgeting so violently that L'oeuf reached out and placed a hand over each of their forearms. She started to tell them to relax, but the batarian spun on her stool.

"I'm Frelis, and she's Daie." She gulped and then blurted out, "They made us do it, L'oeuf. Eight of them just burst through the door one day and told us we had to work for them." She made a soft mewling sound, her mouth opening wide enough to show the teeth missing on one side. "We tried to fight back, but they killed Thomas and Frills and tortured the rest of us until we gave in." Her gaze just bounced off L'oeuf's, refusing to connect and stick. "At first they just sent us out same as always: steal people's shit, rough them up a bit if they refused, but then …." A strangled hiccoughing sound plummeted from her throat with enough force that L'oeuf felt it impact the counter.

"Last night, two of them went with the kids," the human, Diae said, picking up the story. "The boss, Sidrak, said that we aren't pulling our weight, and they need to bring in more kids. Wants to start us panhandling and pickpocketing … stealing from businesses."

L'oeuf shook her head. "So they killed those batarians and stole their kids?"

"Yeah." Diae swallowed hard, looking so green L'oeuf started looking for a barf bucket. "When they got back ... one of the newer kids is a biotic. He's so tiny. Turian. He attacked Bodro when he hit the littlest batarian. Bodro threw him across the living room." Her face contorted and throat worked hard enough to paint the picture of what happened to the little turian.

"Diae and I tried to stop them but …." Frelis flipped a helpless hand toward the other girl's face.

"Okay. Just breathe easy." L'oeuf patted their arms and took a long, steadying breath to cool the poisonous rage bubbling just below her diaphragm. Despite what she first thought, the landscape had changed from stone to bog. The two girls had been through enough; they didn't need to endure her fury as well. "Okay. You two will give me every scrap of information you can about the base and your new leaders. I'll deal with it."

"They're horrible and scary, L'oeuf," Frelis said, tears lining the lower lids of all four eyes.

"They'll kill you," Diae agreed. Both young women snapped their mouths shut, their eyes darting to stare at the counter as Zullius pushed through the curtain, their cocoa on a tray.

"I'm scarier, believe me." L'oeuf smiled at the turian when he placed the large mug in front of her. She cupped her hands around the ceramic, the heat a welcome pain as it drove back the horror. "Thanks, Zullius." Nodding to both girls, she encouraged them to drink up. "Don't worry, ladies, I trust Zullius with my life." Looking back at the turian restauranter, she raised one eyebrow. "You heard anything about this?"

He nodded. "Yeah, people are scared. You expect the Suns or Blood Pack to come at you, but kids …?" Bracing the heels of his hands against the edge of the counter, he leaned in, shoulders drawn up. "We should be willing to let kids in the door, give them what we can spare, but that's not going to happen while this gang is on the loose."

After taking a long swallow of her cocoa, L'oeuf shrugged a little. "Is it okay if these two hang out with you for a while? They can help in the kitchen."

The turian grinned and drew his head back, a cocky curve to his neck. "Dishwashers are always welcome."

* * *

Climbing the outside wall of the gang's base, she both thanked Mordin for the leathers and wished that she'd gone to him to get her fingers redone. Bone protruding through half-formed flesh added an extra level of 'fuck no' to hanging from sharp, narrow fingerholds ten metres up the side of a building. However, despite needing to keep her jaw clenched tight to hold the agony at bay, the work settled the angry sea slamming against the inside of her skull.

Alive or dead ... Garrus or Archangel … purgatory or real life … none of it mattered in the moment. The kids inside that building needed her. She'd been given a purpose. Purpose made everything so much clearer, and the work didn't change, allowing her to settle into the comfort of that like a well worn set of sweats.

Reaching the top floor, she looked down and considered the only-infrequent smears of blood up the wall a considerable victory. She rested her hip on the wide window sill outside the back bedroom and checked her fingertips; blood oozed through the weave, but otherwise intact. Good enough. Sucking in a deep breath, she winced at the bouquet. Why did she always expect Omega to smell better up high?

_It's not the Rockies in mid-July._

Leaning in, she peered through the thick, brown sludge covering the glass Time to get to work. She closed her eyes, visualizing the room within, planning her moves before pushing open the window. A couple of metres away, a batarian and a human pounded at one another, bellowing with such fervour that she climbed through and walked right up to the foot of the bed without drawing their notice. Truthfully, it felt a little like an insult to her talents. It didn't take any sort of skill to enter a room where the lovers hollered loud enough to cover the entry of an entire troupe of howler monkeys.

_Good that they're spending their last minutes happy, though._

One round punched through both men's skulls as their tongues danced amidst their pleasured cries. She left them slumped, bodies still entangled, giving them a slight, mimed tip of the hat as she passed by. _Dying quickly while building to orgasm … all just part of the L'oeuf service, gentlemen. Sorry about being found covered in piss and shit. The indignities of death and all that. What can you do? If it helps, the rest of your pals will all stink just as bad. Death spares no one. I imagine my armour was filled before entering Alchera's atmosphere bbq'd it._

According to Frelis and Daie, she'd just wished Bodro and Rave goodnight and sweet dreams. Two down, six more to go. Six more. Six more.

No! Closing her eyes, she reset the formation. Good soldiers … rows … marching in tandem. Do the work.

Finally, mind blessedly quiet, senses stretched out into the half-light, she transformed into the wraith. Moving on quick, light feet, she savoured the candy sweetness of indulging her one great talent, that one remaining tangible connection to who she'd been before she died. Slipping from room to room, long years of experience allowed her to skirt the alarms, leaving them un-tripped. She flowed through the space—a mountain river … beautiful, powerful, and unforgiving—blood-slick hands lowering the bodies onto beds or to slump back in chairs before they could hit the floor.

Within ten minutes, she cleared the top two storeys. Despite … no, because of the ease of her passage, a huge hand clamped around her throat. Each empty room and each barren hallway just squeezed that grip tighter and tighter. She found the kidnapped batarian children gagged and left bound to cots in a small room at the top of the second storey stairs. They languished in their own filth in a room scarcely bigger than a closet. She reassured them with gentle, comforting touches and then left, lifting a shushing finger to her lips. "I'll be back to set you loose in a minute, okay?" Wide eyed, they nodded, remaining still but for a terrified trembling that set their cots rattling.

Other than the batarians, she didn't see a single kid anywhere. According to the girls, twelve occupied the base. Drawing in a silent but deep, steadying breath, she pushed on. Two bad guys remained on the ground floor. Two more bastards who kidnapped children after murdering their parents … torturing those kids until they agreed to go out and beat up the old and infirm for their meager belongings ... fuck, Omega truly tipped far closer to hell than purgatory.

_One tick mark under evidence for Garrus's assertion. Check._

_Neither the time nor the place for fuck's sake. Where the hell are all the kids?_

The two ringleaders on the ground floor, an asari and a batarian, sat at the kitchen table sorting through a pile of jewellery. "Costume junk," the asari said and shrugged, the bright smile that accompanied the words setting a legion of maggots loose in L'oeuf's gut. "But it'll bring in decent creds on the Citadel. At this rate, we'll be able to move the entire operation to Widow within the cycle."

The batarian grumbled but nodded. "Even sooner if these lazy brats get off their asses during the day. Going to have to cripple a few of them to get the sympathy creds."

A soft whimpering filled the silence as the adults sorted in silence. L'oeuf's heart stopped dead, a solid lump of rock in her chest. She knew that sound all too well. It was the music of suffering so horrible that no amount of desire or threat could silence it.

The asari kicked the cupboard next to her. "Shut up. You're lucky Bodro didn't kill you."

Fury kicked the shit out of caution, jumpstarting her heart with a fresh dose of adrenaline. Fuck them. No mercy. Grabbing L'oeuf by the throat, it dragged her out into the archway, Phalanx leading the way. The asari looked up, a slight wrinkle pinching the skin between her brown eyes as her head listed a little to the right. Time slowed as it always did. For the space of a single, held breath, the _nais_ stared, visibly struggling to place L'oeuf's piece into the puzzle. As she exhaled, realization dawning, L'oeuf's finger squeezed the trigger. The batarian's brains splattered across the table, spraying the asari in a wash of blood and bone.

"You bitch!" Confusion exploded into brilliant corona of glowing, blue rage.

Disgust added precision to skill. Two shots killed the glow, the asari collapsing in around her hands, cradling them against her chest. Terror washed the whites of the _nais's_ eyes a faint violet, pricking the soft, gentle core under the thick layers of L'oeuf's armour. A low moan from the cupboard shoved that core back down and locked it behind heavy security gates.

"Where are the kids?" Freezing herself solid, L'oeuf burrowed down beneath the armour, taking refuge in the work. She knew from Frelis and Daie's descriptions, she was staring into the eyes of Traya, the second-in-command. Traya liked to hit the kids with warp fields and listen to them scream. She'd killed Frills … the twelve-year-old batarian owing her nickname to her love of dressing up in pink ruffles. Reminding herself of that fact allowed her to release the last threads of compassion, blowing them out in a long, sighing breath.

"Fuck y—" The asari jerked straight in her chair, her expression surprised.

Even before Traya realized she was dead, L'oeuf shoved the table aside and crouched next to the cupboard. She yanked the small door open, a blast of stench throwing her back. After covering her nose and mouth with her stink-blocking hanky, she clambered back up. She stared into the dimly lit space, struggling to make sense of the tangle of body parts curled amidst a mess she really didn't want to look at too closely.

Comprehension dragged a barbed groan up her throat when she made out a tiny turian laying on his side, his knees tucked into his belly, arms bound behind his back. The angle of those arms assured her that his shoulders were dislocated, the delicate cartilage on either side of his keel structure separated from the bone. Holy fuck. The poor little dude. What did she do? Surely even touching him could send him into terminal shock.

_No, don't pull him out. Don't move him. What do I do? Oh god. Oh god. I don't know what to do. He's so little._

She reached out with trembling fingers but stopped just short of touching him when he cowered, shoving himself further into the cupboard. Eyes like burnished copper met hers, the combination of helpless terror and rage in that stare sinking long, poisonous thorns into her heart.

"Easy there," she said, giving him her best smile. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."

He let out soft, gurgling sort of groan and his eyes drifted shut. Panic trying very hard to take over, she peeled off a glove and held her fingers in front of his nose. Still breathing. Still breathing. Dear, sweet lord, still breathing, but for how long?

_Don't freak out and start wailing. That won't help him. You're trained in field medicine—_

— _That's for soldiers, not broken babies—_

— _so think. What do you do first?_

First … first things first. She needed to stay calm, get her thoughts lined back up and marching. Taking a deep breath, she forced the soldiers back into formation.

Okay, second step … pulse and airway. Check, he was alive and breathing. Next, stop bleeding. She didn't see any blood. Next, she needed to treat him for shock. Spinning, one hand braced against the cupboard she scanned the kitchen, searching for anything to help. A single light over the table cast a greenish glow over the steel-blue metal fixtures, upgrading everything from merely filthy to hell no. She spotted a medkit on the counter, and jumped up, throwing the table and chair aside in her haste.

She slid to a stop, her hand reaching out. Wait. Sure, the medkit would have drugs. But shit … hitting a 200 lb Devil Dog with an ampule of painkillers was different than dosing a kid. She could kill the turian trying to save him. No, she needed help. Who? She dismissed the first name to cross her mind. If she called Garrus, there'd just be two of them wringing their hands over the little dude.

She opened a channel to Mordin's clinic, then crossed the kitchen to investigate a door on the back wall. "I'm right here, sweetie," she said, aiming the words toward the little turian. "I'm just going to look for the rest of your friends."

"Not your sweetie," Mordin's voice said in her ear. "Romantic entanglements with patients highly unethical. Besides, fairly certain other parties interested."

Startled, she let out a sharp snort. "Wasn't talking to you, Doc. I just finished taking out the gang leaders responsible for the murder of that batarian miner and his mate last night. I found a turian child … maybe four or five cycles old. He's busted up so badly that I'm afraid to move him. The batarian children the gang abducted seem all right, but there are more kids here somewhere." She opened the door, and staggered back, a humid belch of fetid air slamming her in the face.

The air, soured by the combination of unwashed bodies, mold, and decay, burned the inside of her nose. She swallowed, her gag reflex submitting without a fight. One couldn't kill people for a living without growing used to the singular miasma of death. Still, what if the kids were down there?

_Please don't let me walk into a basement full of dead kids._

"Hello?" she called down, stepping down the first two stairs. "I'm here to help you. Is anyone down here?"

"L'oeuf! Focus. One conversation at a time," Mordin's voice startled her. Right, she'd been talking to the doc.

"Doc, I think there are going to be a lot more kids here needing medical attention." She flicked the basement light control, but nothing happened. The sickly light from the kitchen faded beyond the fourth step, rendering the darkness impenetrable. "I need help, dammit. I'm terrified to even touch the turian."

Something moved at the bottom of the stairs: a wan spirit drifting in the darkness. "Are you the police?" a soft, female voice asked, her tone thick and nasal.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered under her breath when a human girl appeared, climbing slowly toward her, her face almost unrecognizable for swelling and bruises. Heart trying to smash its way out through her ribs, L'oeuf stumbled back a step, the storm ramping back up. Too much and too big. All way too big. And kids … kids depending on her … looking at her with teary, expectant eyes. Her … the fuckin' Egg for god's sake. She could barely take care of herself.

She stumbled backwards a step, catching herself just before landing in a heap. Oh fuck, why had she come? Why hadn't she just picked a nice, guilty, horrible set of rich mercs?

_Stop it! Ask Mordin to come and breathe for fuck's sake_. _How would you have handled this before, when you were Commander Shepard? When you were fucking well sane and reasonably competent?_

Right. She just needed to ask Mordin to come. He'd know what to do. "Mordin, please, just grab Nalah and Daniel and get your ass over here before I go into full meltdown."

"First ... turian child's weight?" She could hear him moving around on the other end. "What meds on hand?"

"Just a second, Mordin." She muted the channel, then crouched, peering down into the dark. "Hey, everyone, my name is L'oeuf. It's safe to come up. I killed Traya and the rest of them." She waited for a second, the basement staying silent but for the noisy mouth breathing of the girl on the stairs. "Come on guys, help me out. At least two of you know me, and I need some of you older kids to help with the younger ones."

A batarian she recognized from her previous run-in with the gang appeared on the stairs. "Frelis and Daie? They should have been back hours ago. The bosses were angry."

"They're safe with a good friend of mine." She nodded behind her, the light at her back pulling her up out of that pit. "Come on up, bring everyone. I've got to help the little guy in the cupboard. What's his name?"

"Radis," the girl answered, climbing another two stairs. "The bosses are really dead?"

"As dead as dead gets," she assured her. "It's safe to come up. Maybe we can find some food for you guys up here." She backed up the stairs and picked up the medkit before unmuting the channel and answering the doc's question. "Okay, Mordin, sorry. Ummm … the little guy looks to be about twenty kilos … twenty-five max."

"What meds on hand?"

She knelt next to the cupboard and opened the medkit, rattling off names as she found ampules.

"That last one," Mordin interrupted. "Administer half ampule into muscle toward back of the neck. On our way. Medication may prevent shock in meantime. Send coordinates."

She sent their location, then closed the channel. Setting the dose of the medication, she took a deep breath to steady her trembling hands, then leaned in. "Here you go, sweetie," she whispered as she injected him. "This is going to help."

She rooted through the kit, searching for anything else that might help. Finding a space blanket, she spread it over him, shiny side down to help keep him warm. Dear god, the stench coming up out of that basement on the kids was enough to make her want to cut her nose off her face. How had they expected to send kids out smelling and looking like that? Looking over her shoulder, she greeted the kids with a weak smile as they sidestepped the bodies of their dead tormentors. "Go through to the common room, guys. There aren't any bodies in there."

She nodded toward the older batarian boy. "Kros, take a look through the cupboards. See what you can find to feed these guys." She winced at the state of the counters. "Just don't touch the food to anything." Motioning to two older-looking kids, a turian and an asari, she said, "Can you two go upstairs and untie the three batarians, please?"

Fuck.

Slumping down onto the floor, she reached out to lay a comforting hand against Radis's brow, careful not to jostle him. "Don't worry, buddy, help is on the way. Pretty soon, you're going to be right as rain." She nodded to herself and closed her eyes. "Right as rain. Mordin will fix you up."

Yes, she could breathe. Mordin would treat their wounds and get them fixed up. Of course, then what? What the hell were they going to do with fourteen or so children? It wasn't like she could take them home and set them up in the mines.

_Yes, and here on the third chamber to the left, next to the goats, the child pen. Note the excellent variety of children I keep in stock. Just no._

Ten minutes later, Mordin arrived, Nalah and Daniel right behind him. "First, sit," the doctor said, setting one of the chairs back on its feet. "Need to treat you before am stuck with another patient."

She did as she was told, wincing when he pulled out four bottles of meds. "What are these for?" Eyeballing him, she leaned away from the syringe as he filled it. "You're not going to tranq me and drag me back to the clinic, right?"

The salarian merely scoffed. "Broad spectrum antibiotics, pain control, immunity boosters, vitamins to mitigate stress." His mouth pressed into an impressive scowl, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the place. "You should leave. Environment extremely hazardous considering your condition."

She looked down at Radis, those bright copper eyes meeting hers, and she smiled, shaking her head. "No, I'm not going to leave him." Returning to kneel next to cupboard, she met Mordin's disapproving stare with a stubborn one. "Where he goes, I go."

It took hours to get the kids sorted and into cabs to the clinic. Mordin placed Radis into a medical coma so that they could move him out of the cupboard and onto a stretcher for the trip. The doctor demanded more detailed scans before even untying the little guy's arms.

Shepard checked on the kids a couple of times, but Nalah and Daniel managed to get them all mostly cleaned up and into new clothes. They even managed to scrounge up food that didn't look like it would give the kids some sort of exotic disease, so that left L'oeuf to sit with Radis once they managed to wrangle the entire herd over to Gozu District.

"Take shower," Mordin said, looking up from his scans. "Eat. Rest. Will be hours before finished reconstruction. Tendons, ligaments, and major nerves all badly damaged." He made a quick shooing gesture. "Child in best possible hands."

"Yeah, okay." Bending over the little guy, she pressed a gentle kiss to his brow plate. "Don't you ever wonder why we bother to keep fighting in a galaxy that just keeps letting terrible shit happen?"

"Sometimes." Mordin shrugged. "Everyone falls victim to hopelessness from time to time. The strong fight: make galaxy better … kinder. The weak commit atrocities or sit by, watch them happen." He nodded toward the other room. "Go, shower, then you can assist." He tossed her a set of scrubs. "Change. Odour giving me a headache."

A blessed quiet hung close to the floor, thick banks of steam drifting past her out the door, then blowing back as she pulled it closed behind her. She stripped down much more recklessly than usual, a few wounds becoming casualties of her haste, but she needed to be rid of it … all of it, the entire mess of shit she'd wallowed in all day. Turning the water far too hot, she faced the wall, hands braced against the metal, head hanging.

Images flashed through her head: the two lovers sprawled on blood splattered sheets … the wide, startled eyes of the asari ….

She kicked the wall. No, they deserved it.

_Not the butcher._

They tortured children, forcing them into slavery, mutilating them ….

_Not the butcher._

Those wide brown eyes … the fear in them when the asari saw death had come for her. No! She thumped her forehead against the wall, trying to drive the images out. She rescued those children. She did good. Surely she'd earned points toward the light.

_Not the butcher._

Eight bodies, left sprawled in blood and shit. How many others over her time on that damned rock? The old sludge, the tar-black ooze that poisoned her soul after Torfan, crept from the dark places at the back of her mind and the deepest core of her heart.

_If I'm alive … if this isn't purgatory …._

_I'm the Butcher of Torfan all over again._

A white-hot dagger stabbed through the center of her skull, the pain blinding her. Leaning into her hands, she sagged against the wall. She retched, once … then again, her stomach trying to crawl up into her throat.

_I'll never be free. I enjoyed it. Enjoyed slipping through their lives unseen until it was too late. Enjoyed the power of being in control of my body again. Doesn't that make me as bad as they are? After all that bullshit I fed Garrus about fighting them without becoming them._

_I can't be the butcher, not any—_

"Shepard? Are you awake? We need to talk." Garrus's voice spoke in her ear. Garrus. Real and on Omega? How could he exist there amidst the filth? Omega was a place of death, a haven for despair. He belonged in the light.

She stalled, her brain suddenly blank, hand frozen halfway to her ear. Garrus? She folded down onto the floor, hands and knees pressed to the tile. The pitch seeded in her soul all those years before burned behind her eyes and filled her throat until all she could do was heave. Nothing came up, no food, no bile, no evil tar … just endless heaving until she collapsed on her side.

Somehow her hand made it to her ear to connect the call. "Garrus?" His name broke the dam holding the flood at bay: great, terrible sobs battered their way from her throat. "Garrus. Oh, god, Garrus … I don't … I don't know … who am I? What am I? I can't be the butcher any more. Please … help me."


	12. Chapter Twelve: Cold Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spirits, does she have an idea how much I love her? How much I want to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her neck until the only thing that exists is her? This though, this is something. She's not running, and she's letting me touch her. I've waited so long; I can keep waiting as long as she's willing to just give me this.

**Cold Hot Chocolate**

**Written by MosaicCreme** with dialogue and actions for Shepard provided by MizDirected.

Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary:

**Buratrum** _-_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

**Perir** \- Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

**Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

**Familia notas** \- The colony markings that turians wear on their faces.

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Obluvis** \- One who is senile or absent-minded. Slang: Idiot

**Necor elinus min** \- Don't leave me

"Garrus?" Shepard sobbed, her breath coming through the comm in strangled gasps. "Garrus. Oh, god, Garrus … I don't … I don't know … who am I? What am I? I can't be the butcher any more. Please … help me."

Garrus leaned forward in his chair, worry sweeping over him and pushing aside his concerns about Cerberus. "Shepard, what happened? What's wrong?"

She breathed heavily on the other side of the connection, her whimpers slowing as she started to rein herself in. "I lied to you, Garrus." The sound of running water filled the silence as she paused. "I just … I didn't want you to have this poison eating away at your heart." Another shuddering breath rolled through the mic. "I didn't want you to ever feel like a butcher."

His brain stuttered, this wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Lied? Shepard, I don't understand what you're talking about." Garrus stood up from his desk, pacing around the bedroom. Agitation driving his pulse, he didn't wait for her to respond. "Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He stopped, her words sinking in a little deeper, pulling up memories of skillfully dodged conversations in their past. "Are you … are you talking about Torfan?"

"The _Normandy_ was the last chance to save my soul," she whispered, the sound nearly lost to the background noise. "It wasn't just Torfan. After I wiped out that base, the Alliance thought they knew what sort of soldier I was. A one woman black ops team." She seemed to hesitate, her breathing soft rasp. "So much blood on my hands. So much blood."

Garrus closed his eyes, his mandibles flaring wide as he took in a cleansing breath. He looked back to his desk and the orange glow of the Cerberus laptop sitting there, waiting for him. She needed answers … but it didn't seem like the right time to give them to her. He bit down on the top of his tongue, stifling a growl of frustration. Spirits, but he hated hearing her talk like that. "You did great work with the _Normandy_ , Shepard. We fought back the geth, tracked down Saren … saved the Citadel from Sovereign. We saved millions, _buratrum_ , billions keeping the reapers from getting through that day. You have to know none of that would've happened without you."

"Too much blood. I should have known I could never wash it off." Regret weighed heavy in her voice. "Can't wash it off." Several sudden, wet sounding slaps echoed over the comm. "Can never wash it off. I enjoyed it. I became the butcher again, and I enjoyed it."

"Shepard!" Garrus barked, cringing away from the harsh tone of his own voice, but he was losing her, and he needed to stop her from slipping away. He'd dealt with more than his fair share of witnesses near the edge of hysteria, and knew sometimes you had to use a sharp tone to get them to focus. Hoping that was enough to cut through the panic he heard in her voice, he softened his own. "Shepard … you are _not_ a bad person. You could never _be_ a bad person." Garrus rubbed his hand over his crest and took a deep breath. "Just tell me what happened. I'm right here, but I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened."

"I have to go help Mordin." The roar of falling water filled the comm.

"Mordin? Is that where you are? At the clinic?" Garrus took a deep breath trying to calm himself, knowing that if he pushed too much she'd only run again. "I've, hmmm. I've got something for you … from Cerberus' files. Maybe Mordin can help us both make sense out of it?"

"Cerberus," she whispered. "Proof that I'm alive." Resolve settled into her voice. "Yes, I'm at the clinic. Found a little turian … need to help Mordin fix him."

"Let me—Is it alright if I come there? I can bring what I have, and maybe I can help … I'm no doctor, but I _am_ turian." Garrus flicked a mandible in a grin.

She hesitated long enough for Garrus' grin to falter. "Okay," she said, the word barely more than a breath. "Okay."

Garrus struggled to keep the elation from flooding his voice. Afraid his excitement would overwhelm her, he dropped his tone to match hers. "Okay. I'll gather things up and head that way. Is there anything I should bring … for you? Or the little guy?"

"I left two teenagers with Zullius. They'll be worried about their friends." She fell silent for a moment before saying, "Maybe some of his hot chocolate?"

He fought back the groan of complaint starting to rumble in his chest, he didn't want to go to Zullius'. He wanted to go to the clinic. Still, he offered, and there's no way he'd tell her no.

_This could be good, though. She asked for hot chocolate. Probably for the kid, but I'll bring her some, too. And food. Maybe I can call Zullius and have him put on one of those pizzas for her. I should probably grab something for the little guy, too._

"Okay, sure. I can stop by there and pick them up." Garrus moved to the desk, shutting down the laptop. "Uh … Nalah's at the clinic, right? Is it alright with you if I drag Butler along with me? He's her husband, and I might need the extra set of hands."

"Yes, Nalah's here. She and Daniel got the rest of the kids organized while Mordin and I helped Radis," she confirmed.

Garrus paused, dread settling into the pit of his stomach. "Wait … the rest of the kids? Spirits, how many are there?" He stuffed the laptop into the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Fourteen plus Frelis and Daie." She sucked in a deep breath, voice wavering when she spoke again, "They're such a mess, Garrus."

_Sixteen children! What in the pits of_ buratrum _happened?_

Garrus swallowed, the dread settling in to stay. He couldn't think about that right at the moment. Right now he needed to get to Shepard, that's all that mattered. They were at the clinic, whatever happened they'd be safe there.

_I'm going to need a lot of pizza._ Tarc _that takes too long. Okay, so something fast and easy._

"What … does the doc need me to bring in the others? Patrol the area, help out with anything?" A thought occurred to him. "Hmmm … can you give me a dextro-levo break down?"

"Mordin might appreciate some help, but there's no threat." She took a deep, noisy breath. "The bastards holding them are all dead." Her words hung in the air between them. "About four turians, I think. Most of the kids are batarian and human."

_Good, Shepard. Good. Spirits, I know it's tearing you up, but you did the right thing._

"Alright." Garrus fluttered his mandibles. "I'll be there as soon as I can." He stopped to check his guns, just in case. "And thank you, Shepard, for letting me help."

"Yeah," she said, sounding muffled.

Garrus hummed, his chest swelled with the affection he felt for her, easing away some of the dread. "I'll leave the channel open. I'm here if you need anything."

He waited a moment to see if she had anything else to say, and when nothing but the rustling sounds of her movement greeted him he muted the mic. Leaving his room, he crossed the hall to knock on the door opposite his.

"It's open." Weaver's muffled voice called out.

Garrus hit the door controls and leaned against the frame when the door slid open. Weaver and Melenis were the only ones inside. That tended to be the case when they stayed over; the male members of the team lost that battle long ago, surrendering the only other private bedroom to the female members.

Weaver looked up from a desk, running a brush through her wild mop of hair. "What's up?"

Now that he was faced with the task of rallying his team, he felt selfish for asking for their help. Garrus hummed. Melenis set a datapad down on the table next to her bed and sat up, dropping her feet to the floor. Weaver pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I, uh, just got off a call with Shepard." He tried not to look at Melenis when he said Shepard's name, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. "I don't know the details yet, but she's at Dr. Solus' clinic with what sounds like a bunch of injured kids. I'm going by Zullius' to pick up two others that she left there and take them to the clinic, too. I thought maybe some of you might be willing to go … help the doctor wrangle the kids?"

Ever the C-Sec Enforcer, Melenis stood up and crossed the floor to stand in front of Garrus. Arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on him. "What happened to the kids?"

"Yeah, I'll go. I'll see who else wants to come with us. I know Butler won't want to miss the chance to meet the Pizza Angel." Weaver squeezed past Melenis to get out of the room, patting Garrus on the shoulder as she went.

Garrus turned to glance at her over his shoulder. "Be sure someone stays to watch the base."

"Of course," Weaver said, bounding down the stairs.

Garrus turned back to Melenis, his mandibles fluttering. He gave a brief shake of his head. "I honestly don't know for certain, but it sounds like Shepard cleared out a batarian slave ring or something. She took the children to the clinic. We're looking at a total of sixteen kids involved in this."

He watched as Melenis clenched and unclenched her jaw. The fire in her eyes told him all he needed to know; she was going with him if for no other reason that to find out for sure that the assholes responsible were good and dead. It's what Garrus liked most about the asari, they saw eye to eye on so many things.

He cleared his throat and pushed away from the wall. "I'm going to call Zullius and see if he can put together something to eat for the kids and staff. You coming?"

Melenis snorted in response, bringing a smile to Garrus face. He nodded his head toward the stairs before turning to walk away.

"Was she hurt?" she called after him.

The strain in Melenis' voice felt like a fist to his gut. He stopped and turned around, his mandibles flaring as he took in her scent. Her concern smelled genuine enough, but that bitter tang of jealousy still lurked just below the surface. It made him hate himself that much more. Melenis was a good woman, and she deserved to fall in love with someone who could love her in return.

Garrus shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Melenis nodded her head, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. "Good. I'll grab my things and meet you downstairs."

Garrus dipped his head, turning back around to make his way down the stairs. He opened his omni-tool, looking up the number for Zullius before placing the call.

* * *

Garrus sat on a stool in the back of Zullius' restaurant while Butler and Sidonis helped Zullius load the backs of the skycars with bottled drinks and trays of sliced meat, cheeses, fruit, and vegetables. He had a pizza made just for Shepard, and the hot cocoas she asked for as well. He'd made sure to have him include plenty of both dextro and levo choices. The batarian and human female teenagers sat on stools in front of Garrus, watching him with wide-eyed wonder. Melenis stood next to Garrus, her eyes narrowed at the girls while Weaver and Krul stood off to the side.

Weaver snorted. "Maybe if you took your helmet off they'd be less intimidated, _Archangel_."

Krul chortled. "He's scarier looking underneath."

"Shut up." Weaver laughed, slapping the back of her hand against Krul's stomach.

The batarian gave her a toothy grin before settling in against the counter. Melenis flashed them a glare that silenced the both of them before turning her attention back to the girls.

Garrus cleared his throat, ignoring the growing impatience that had him tapping his talons on the counter and tried again. "I promise, L'oeuf sent us to pick you up. We're taking you to the Omega Clinic, it's where she's at with all of your friends. She said the people who did this to you are gone now, so there's nothing to worry about. She wanted to come herself, but some of your friends are hurt pretty bad, and she didn't want to leave them."

Daie, the human girl, chewed on her lower lip. A nervous habit that reminded him so very much of Shepard. She turned to her batarian friend, Frelis, and nodded her head. Garrus let a quiet sigh of relief seep out of him.

"How many?" Frelis asked.

"How many what?" Garrus lifted his hand up in question.

Frelis slid off the stool and crossed her arms. The lighting doing nothing to hide the bruises covering her added an almost tangible weight to the hard lines of her determined expression. "How many of our friends?"

"L'oeuf said fourteen plus you two." Garrus leaned into the counter next to him. "One of them she called Radis. A _perir_ , ah, a turian boy if I understood her right."

Frelis looked back over her shoulder at Daie, who nodded and slipped down from the stool to stand beside her friend. "Okay. L'oeuf said we could trust Zullius, and Zullius said we could trust you … so okay, we'll go with you."

Garrus pushed himself up from the stool. He flicked a mandible when the two girls took a step back. Waving at Weaver and Krul to stick with the teens, he made his way to the front of the restaurant with Melenis at his side. The others were just finishing up loading the skycars, sliding the doors closed.

"You didn't even ask them what the hell happened." Melenis grumbled from beside him.

Garrus turned to look at her. "There's time for that on the ride. I needed to focus on getting them to agree to go with us. Did you see them? They've been through _buratrum_ , they needed a gentle hand not an interrogation."

Melenis scoffed. "Softy."

Butler jogged over to tell them they were ready when he was, so Garrus stepped back into the kitchen. Nodding his head toward the door, he waited for the small procession—the two girls sandwiched between Weaver and Krul—to walk past him before dropping a credit chit with more than enough to cover the night's buffett on the kitchen counter.

He followed them back out of the kitchen and stopped to talk to Zullius, waving the others on to the waiting cars. "What can you tell me about these two?"

Zullius leaned against the counter next to Garrus, his mandibles fluttering as he watched the girls climb in a car with Melenis, and Krul. "There's been a lot of robberies, some acts of violence around here lately involving kids." Zullius turned his attention back to Garrus and smiled. "Leave it to our mutual friend to tear the whole thing apart. She brought them in earlier today, got them talking." Zullius paused, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think the girls realized I could still hear them in the back. Anyway, by the sounds of things, they were forced into this gang by people they called Sidrak and Bodro." Zullius took a deep breath and shook his head. "Sounds like they've been kidnapping kids all around, torturing them until they agree to do what they're told. A batarian couple were killed last night, their place stripped of anything of value … including their children."

" _Tarc._ " Garrus shook his head, disgust leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, that about sums it up." Zullius' mandibles flared wide, his brow ridges inching their way up his face. "So, uh, she called you in, huh? That's good, I'm glad you two are reconnecting. If anyone on this blasted rock needs a friend it's her."

Garrus chuckled. "Well, I called her, and I might have leveraged my way into helping … but if she'd told me no …."

"Still your commanding officer." Zullius fluttered his mandibles, a soft snort of understanding rushing from his nose.

"Always." Garrus laid a hand down on Zullius' shoulder. "I left something for you in the kitchen. Thanks for all of this, and sorry it was such short notice. And so late."

"I've told you already, anything I can do to help, just say the word." Zullius pushed away from the counter, leading Garrus out of the restaurant. "Tell L'oeuf hello for me."

"You got it, have a good night, Zullius." Garrus climbed into the driver's seat of the second car with Butler, Sidonis, and Weaver.

"You too, Archangel." Zullius pushed the door closed for Garrus before waving at the first car.

Garrus switched frequencies on his comm. "Melenis, leave the kids be. I got all I need to know from Zullius. The rest I'll get from Shepard."

"You're sure?" Melenis responded.

_Spirits, but she's stubborn._

"Yes, Melenis." Garrus let his voice drop with exaggerated patience, earning him a snicker from the others in the car with him. "Alright, let's get out of here."

* * *

Garrus settled the skycar down near the back entrance to the clinic. Opening the door, he looked back over his shoulder at the others. "I'm going to get the girls inside to the doctor. Are you guys good to get things brought in?"

Weaver snorted. "You're just in a hurry to see Shepard."

Garrus flared his mandibles, feeling them brush against the inside of his helmet. "You're not wrong."

"Go on, boss. We got it." Butler slapped a meaty hand down on Garrus shoulder, a silly grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

Garrus smiled and climbed out of the car. "Thanks."

He met the second car as the doors opened, offering his hand to Frelis to help her climb out of the backseat. The batarian shook her head at him and made her own way out. He shrugged it off and reached out for Daie instead. She slipped her frail looking hand into his and let him brace her as she climbed out of the skycar.

Garrus ushered the two teenagers to the back entrance and ducked inside with them as quickly as he could, wanting both the girls and himself out of sight from anyone who might be watching the clinic. The man behind the front desk waved at him, nodding him through the door to the lab. Garrus wasn't surprised, he'd become a permanent fixture at the clinic while Shepard recovered, and the staff knew him well.

Leading Frelis and Daie to the back, Garrus paused just inside the entrance. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes bulged as he looked around. The two girls gasped, breaking away from Garrus to dart across the clinic to where two young asari sat on a cot, clinging to one another. Their blue skin covered in patches of an angry violet, stark white bandages taped down over parts of their arms and faces. Across from them sat a small batarian, barely a dozen cycles old as far as Garrus could tell. Like the two asari, he'd been worked over; bruises and bandages covering his waxy looking skin. The child looked like he hadn't eaten in a week, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleep deprivation.

A hopeful hum of subvocals, barely mature enough to reach a baritone, drew Garrus attention to his left. A young turian—Garrus estimated at fourteen—sat on a cot along the wall next to the entrance. Pleading gray eyes stared up at Garrus, the _perir_ cradling an arm set in a sling. Garrus stifled a growl, shoving the fury of seeing so many injured children aside.

Moving to squat down in front of the boy, he lifted his helmet from his head. The _perir's_ trill a desperate call for protection, a keen rumbled from the child's throat before being cut off. He reeked of fear and blood, and something far worse Garrus didn't want to think too closely about. Garrus hummed to him in consolation, his mandibles flat against his jaws. Faded lavender _famila notas_ running along the _perir's_ mandibles and the center of his forehead, just before his crest, marked him as belonging to the same colony as Sidonis. Garrus desperately wanted to say something—anything to the kid to to reassure him that everything would be alright, but the look in his eyes left Garrus speechless.

Lifting a hand to the boy's shoulder, Garrus wasn't surprised when the kid crumpled forward, planting his forehead against Garrus' armor and surrendering to the heart wrenching keen. Garrus wrapped his arm around the _perir's_ back—not even old enough yet to serve his time—and offered him the solace he could only find with one of his own. Thoughts of Shepard put on pause, Garrus held the kid for long minutes, watching his team bring in supplies and set about helping with the patients.

Melenis settled in between the two asari, without question the two girls clung to her, and she enveloped them with the soft haze of her biotics. She met Garrus' eyes from across the room, and he knew that the fire he saw there was reflected in his own eyes. Weaver sat down not far away, next to the batarian boy, easing a bottle of water and an overflowing plate into his hands.

Sidonis appeared at Garrus' side, cutting off his view of Melenis and Weaver. Garrus looked up at the other _torin_ , exhaustion and profound sadness tugging his mandibles down.

Sidonis laid a hand on Garrus shoulder. "Let me sit with him, boss. Dr. Solus is asking for you."

Garrus patted the boy's back. "Hey, I'm going to go see what the doctor needs. Is it alright if my friend Sidonis sits with you?"

The boy nodded his head, pulling away from Garrus and turning to look up at Sidonis. His mandibles flared when his eyes found Sidonis' face; Garrus thought the familiar sight of shared _familia notas_ might be comforting. Garrus stood, groaning as his knees and ankles protested with pins and needles as he changed position. He left Sidonis with the child and went to find Dr. Solus.

"Ah, Archangel." Dr. Solus looked up from a console. "Looked over Cerberus files. Am confident can help L'oeuf, better understanding of implants purposes. Still refuses help." The doctor moved further down the table to read off data from a piece of lab equipment. "Gave her sedative. Might be easier to talk to now. Maybe more willing to listen." Dr. Solus pointed to one of the private rooms. "Try not to upset her; heart unable to handle stress."

"Thank you, Dr. Solus." Garrus patted the doctor on the shoulder before making his way to the table piled with the trays of food and drinks, hope reaching in to fill the cracks and crevices of his battered heart.

Butler sat next to the table, Shepard's pizza and the two cups of hot cocoa balanced on his lap. "Her pizza's getting cold, boss. Can I take it in to her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. She's not exactly comfortable with people right now, Butler." Garrus held out his hands for the pizza and drinks.

"But … she's the Pizza Angel. She's been bringing me pizzas. I want to bring her one." Butler pouted, pulling the box closer to his torso he curled around it protectively. "Maybe if you tell her it's out here, she'll come out and get it herself? I just want to meet her."

Garrus chuckled. "Tell you what, give me the drinks, and I'll tell her about the pizza. We'll see if she's willing to come out. But if she isn't, I'm coming back out here for it. Deal?"

"Fine." Butler held out the cups, his lips pulled down in an exaggerated frown.

Garrus chuffed and shook his head, his mandibles fluttering in amusement. He walked into the dimly lit room, two not-so-hot hot cocoas in his hands. His mandibles fluttered, the rich scent that belonged to Shepard and Shepard alone hitting him the second he entered. Seeing her there, laying next to a _perir_ whose upper body was almost entirely enveloped by a regen frame, stopped Garrus in his tracks. Shepard stroked the boy's crest, quietly humming that old familiar tune, _Scarborough Fair_. Not wanting to startle her or the child, Garrus gently cleared his throat.

_Spirits, she's here. She's really, really here._

Looking up, Shepard smiled, her eyes glassy but filled with a peaceful calm. "Hey." The child in her arms stirred, moaning a little. She shushed him, tone gentle and comforting, her fingers easing the little guy back into sleep. "I'm glad you came," she whispered, words scarcely more than a breath.

His heart skipped a beat, and for one insane moment he considered climbing in the bed next to her. He knew there wouldn't be room for him, even if she'd let him get that close. Besides, the poor kid in her arms looked as if sleep might be his only reprieve from agony, and Garrus didn't dare disturb him.

Smiling, he crossed over to the bed on silent feet. Settling the two cups down on the bedside table, he retrieved a chair, pulling it a little closer before sitting down as close as he thought she'd allow. "Of course. I'm glad you let me come." He flicked a mandible. "I uh, I brought food and …." He swallowed, suddenly feeling like his meager offerings were pointless. "And uh, hot cocoa for both of you. Though, I don't think it's very hot anymore."

_Garrus, you sound like an_ obluvis.

Her smile widened as she closed her eyes and inhaled. "Mmmm, best thing I've smelled all day. Thanks. Hot or not … it's sugary, chocolatey heaven." Careful not to jostle the _perir_ , she eased herself up onto one elbow and reached over the child for the cup. She took a long sip, a low groan of bliss rolling deep in her throat. "Yep, heaven." She met his gaze. "And thanks for bringing them food. They've been through the sort of hell that you don't want to imagine. Even something as small as a good meal will go a long way."

"Zullius filled me in on some of it." His mandibles flared, and he relaxed back into the chair. "I take it you took care of everything?"

She nodded. "Yeah, the adults—and I use the term loosely—are all dead. Bastards." She stroked her hand down the child's neck then bent to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. "This fellow is biotic. Tried to stand up for one of the batarians, so they broke his arms, tied them behind his back … stuffed him in a cupboard." Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Brave little guy."

Mandibles snapping closed against his jaw, he bit off an angry snarl before it could rip its way through his throat. He let his eyes drift to the _perir_ and took a deep breath. "It's good you found them. I have a feeling whatever you did was far kinder than I would've been."

He shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Tilting his head to the side, he pushed his anger aside, letting his concern for Shepard take its place. "What about you, are you hungry? I brought one of those pizza's you like, but Butler's guarding it. He thinks it'll convince you to come out there so he can meet you. I told him I'd let you know he wants to, but it's up to you. I can always sic Nalah on him." He smirked. "Bring the pizza in here to you, if you want."

"Thanks, although the way I've seen him power through a pie, I'd be surprised if there's any left." Her smile drifted away, the skin between her eyebrows pinching into a thoughtful frown before she reached over the child to offer him her hand.

Afraid he'd startle her, or send her running again if he moved too fast, Garrus reached out to close his talons around her fingers. A gentle rumble filled his chest, and he squeezed her fingers. "That's why I made sure he had his own."

_Spirits, does she have an idea how much I love her? How much I want to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her neck until the only thing that exists is her? This though, this is something. She's not running, and she's letting me touch her. I've waited so long; I can keep waiting as long as she's willing to just give me this._

Staring at their joined hands, Shepard shook her head, running her thumb along the back of his hand. "You're real," she whispered, taking deep breaths. "I don't know what to do with any of this. Nothing makes sense. People don't come back from the dead."

Garrus leaned a little closer, pushing himself to the edge of his chair. Urgency filled his voice, but he fought to keep it contained as much as he could. "It does make sense, I brought the laptop I got from Cerberus tonight. It's all in there. I mean, sure, it sounds crazy, but they did it, Shepard. Cerberus brought you back to life."

Shepard drew her hand back. "The war." She let out a long, desolate breath and settled back down onto the pillow trapped between her shoulder and her head. Closing her eyes, she let out another long breath. "Do you know how many times I've died now? Every time, someone drags me back. Every time, they say the same thing. We couldn't let you go. We need you or the Alliance needs you. Same thing every time."

Garrus stared at his empty hand, mandibles drooping. Letting out a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, running his palm over his crest. "Same song and dance. Except this time it's Cerberus pulling the strings. Hmmm, the collectors have been abducting human colonies … they think you're the only one who can put a stop to it." He shook his head, letting his eyes fall to the sleeping child once more. Emotion clamping down on his throat made his voice hoarse, almost wistful when he said, "But … no matter why they did it, you're here now. And you get to choose how you live your life, Shepard. Tell them all to sink into the pits of _buratrum_ if you want." Garrus waved a hand, sweeping through the air as if it were as simple as brushing their problems aside. "The galaxy can figure out how to save itself. I'm just glad you're here. That's all … that's all that matters to me right now."

_Please,_ necor elinus min _. Not again._

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, a smile tweaking one side of her mouth. "Retire to somewhere with a fantastic beach, lay around all day reading the long list of books I've never had time to read." Her stare darted away, focusing on Radis. "Settle down." She let out a soft chuff of air. "It would be nice. At least until the reapers swept through and destroyed everything."

"Then we fight, like we always do. Whatever you want, anything, just tell me what to do." His voice cracked, his mandibles fluttering wildly. Garrus swallowed against the knot in his throat. "Just let me be there with you."

"First thing you could do is get me a lifetime supply of whatever the hell Mordin shot me up with." She let her eyes drift shut. "I haven't had this much peace inside my head since I got here. Maybe even before." She shook her head, then hummed softly as Radis stirred. "Shhhh, sweetie, it's okay." Resuming the caresses along the tiny plates down the back of the child's neck, she looked up. "If this is all real … I'm … " She gulped a little. "Look at me, Garrus. I'm just shreds … crumbs left on the table."

_She called me Garrus. Hmmm. Never thought I'd envy an injured child so much._

Garrus chuffed. His heart ached to tell her a pretty lie to wash the pain away, but he respected her far too much to do that. "You know the doctor can fix that …."

"My body, maybe. The rest? I don't know." The scent of panic began to roll off of her. Focusing on the child next to her, she steadied her breathing. Slowly, the scent faded. "I'm not the woman you remember."

Garrus watched her in silence for a moment, letting her scent mix with that of the child she'd so clearly become attached to. "I know, Shepard," he finally said, his voice soft, barely audible but filled with enough pain to make him cringe. "I think getting your body fixed will help with the rest … certainly wouldn't hurt. Maybe if you felt better, physically …." He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Maybe it would make it easier for you to sort through everything else."

"I'm scared," she whispered. "I can't be helpless, Garrus. I fight. That's what I am … who I am. Not the victim. Never again."

His gaze darted from side to side, searching her face for what he thought had to be the punchline to a bad joke. Realizing she was serious, his blood ran cold in his veins as the little bit of hope he walked into the room with went up in smoke. Garrus chuckled, the sound dark and filled with misery even to his aural canals. "Spirits, woman. You're far from helpless. I read Cerberus' reports. You weren't supposed to wake up when you did, but you're Commander Shepard. You woke up, fought your way out of there, and here you are—even in this condition—cleaning house on Omega." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. "I'm not going to try to force you, but I can't see myself thinking it's a good idea for you to stay like this. What is it you're afraid of? I don't understand why you don't want Dr. Solus' help."

Shepard swallowed hard, her breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps. The sharp sour scent of fear flooded Garrus' senses. Her hands fluttered before latching on to the _perir_ , clinging to him in obvious desperation. His visor feeding back Shepard's vitals alerted him to a spike in her heart rate.

The musky scent of his own fear filled the air, rising up to mingle with hers. " _Tarc_. Shepard, no, no. I'm sorry." Garrus pushed himself to the edge of his seat, his mandibles flaring as his hands started to reach out to her, only to be forced back to his lap. "I—"

The door opened, cutting Garrus off. Dr. Solus came in, looking between Shepard and Garrus, a frown on his face. Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, the doctor pulled out a small vial and a syringe. Turning his glare on Garrus, he shook his head. "Out. Now."

Garrus balled his talons into fists, wanting nothing more than to lash out at someone—anyone—for the utter injustice done to Shepard. Clenching his jaw, he stood stiffly from the chair and crossed over to the door. He stopped to look over his shoulder at Shepard, his heart aching to tell the doctor to stick his head up his cloaca, even as he was grateful to see him giving Shepard something to help calm her. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry, Shepard. I'm not leaving, I'll just be right out here."

Shepard lifted her fingers to rub the stinging spot on her neck, but then reached out her hand to him again. "Do you remember the feeling in that moment we realized Sovereign wasn't just a ship?"

Garrus hesitated, looking back to Dr. Solus. The doctor sniffed disdainfully but walked out past Garrus, leaving him to decide on his own whether or not he stayed. Garrus made his way back to the edge of the bed, standing over Shepard and the tiny _perir_ , and took her hand in his. "It was terrifying."

She held his talons in a vice-like grip. "Instead of memories, I have these vast, black spaces filled with nothing but that feeling." Her eyes drifted closed, the meds sending her swiftly toward unconsciousness. "Dr. Solus means well, but he'd send me down that well, trapping me there." Her eyes fluttered open to stare into his. "In the dark, alone … no air… burning in a fire I can't see. Down there, I'm helpless, Garrus." The drugs refused to be denied, and her eyes fell closed again, her chest rising and falling with shallow, even breaths.

Garrus hummed softly, reaching over the prone form of the injured _perir_ to push a lock of hair off of her face before running his palm over her head. "Shh. Get some rest. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I—not again. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

"Last night," she said, her words thick and distorted, "no monster … not afraid … could hear you."

He could tell by the peaceful smile on her face, and the steady rise and fall of her chest that she was asleep. Garrus stroked his hand over her head once more, before gently resting his palm against her cheek, letting a talon ghost over her lips.

He took a shuddering breath and whispered, "I love you, Shepard. _Necor elinus min_."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: While You were Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then an explosion of fire and agony set the ocean ablaze. Instead of gliding through soothing waters, that blast threw her to the surface, forcing her to float amidst the flames of the monster's jaws without even the comfort of the others … of that connection. Alone, terrified … every nerve … every cell … even her veins on fire, magma rolling beneath the surface, she flailed, hands slapping at the water, struggling to dive down, to smother the inferno.

**Written by MizDirected with dialogue and actions for Garrus supplied by the sublime MosaicCreme**

**ALiSI:** Artificial Life Support Intelligence

**PVS** : Persistent vegetative state.

**Torin** : Turian male over the age of majority. 15

**Buratrum** : The turian equivalent of hell.

_The monster swallowed her whole, it's roaring maw gobbling her down like Jonah. Inside the belly of the whale, she glided through an ocean of impossible, peaceful black. Never alone, others swirled around her, a beautiful dance of thought and emotion. She knew 'me' and 'mine', but 'theirs' no longer remained separate, replaced by 'ours'._

_Then an explosion of fire and agony set the ocean ablaze. Instead of gliding through soothing waters, that blast threw her to the surface, forcing her to float amidst the flames of the monster's jaws without even the comfort of the others … of that connection. Alone, terrified … every nerve … every cell … even her veins on fire, magma rolling beneath the surface, she flailed, hands slapping at the water, struggling to dive down, to smother the inferno._

" _Yes! We have brain activity showing on the scans. Good God, Miranda, we actually did it."_

" _Don't start congratulating yourself yet; her brain activity is barely registering. Keep your eyes on the scans. Ramirez, tighten up the cranial restraints and flip the frame."_

_Her world tilted._ Hello? Who's there? Where am I? Someone? Can you hear me?

" _We'll start the cerebral implants. Pedersen bring the robotic arms online … prepare the central processor implant. I want to start simulations with ALiSI first thing tomorrow morning."_

What? Hello? What did that all mean? Can you hear me? Let me go back. Please, just let me go back under the water. Please. No. Whatever you're doing, please … no. Please.

_Razor-sharp teeth gripped her head. She fought against them without effect. She screamed, but the monster's jaws held her tight. When those teeth sank into her skull, she tried to submerge, to disappear beneath the waters, to join her family … all the ones who loved her. But, the voices yanked her back, tearing silent scream after silent scream from lips that never moved. Frozen and immobile, her body formed a prison around the fire, the monster's jaws gnashing._

" _Dear God, her scans are showing elevated beta and alpha waves, Miranda. I think she's aware. We need to anesthetize her."_

Yes! Please! Can you … oh god … no … please. Someone hear me! Please. I'm here. Why can't I move? Why can't I ... ? _Her questions … her begging shattered into a scream that drowned out the monster's whining roar … the crunching sound of its teeth drilling through bone._

" _Don't be ridiculous, Wilson. She's still well within PVS range."_

Listen to him! Dear God, please, just listen to …. Mommy? Daddy? Please … find me. Come for me. Take me back—

" _Don't start this again, Wilson," a third voice said. "She's a half-cooked egg … fucking sunny side up. Just leave all that religious 'what about her soul' crap in your quarters."_

_She screamed in the monster's jaws until exhaustion turned screams into pleading, and then madness ..._

Swallow me. Swallow. Swallow. Let me die. I need … let me die. Waters … the waters. Put out fire. Swallow. Swallow. The waters …

_Through the cacophony, a quiet voice whispered. Straining, she fought to hear it, but—_

She startled awake to cement walls bathed in the sickly glow from the computer monitors and vid screens. A duet of snoring serenaded her from either side, easing her down onto her pillow. Warm breath fanned her brow, drawing her gaze. A soft smile tugged at her lips even through the pain. At some point after she'd fallen asleep, Garrus had moved around to her side of the bed. As he succumbed to sleep himself, he'd slumped sideways in his chair until, with one arm folded under the corner of her pillow, he drifted off, his head resting next to hers.

Her fingers, tucked between her pillow and her cheek, floated up to follow the line of his mandible, never touching. She knew that his exhaustion wouldn't override his protective instinct, and if she touched him even slightly, he'd wake. She'd never met anyone who guarded the ones he cared about so fiercely. Maybe it was a turian trait, but she knew too few turians to tell. Saren had snatched Nihlus away before they'd had a chance to become friends.

Her smile widened but crooked, deformed by the agony crawling along the wide cracks in her flesh. She swallowed the moan that wound around the base of her tongue, choking on it like spaghetti swallowed too soon. She focused on Garrus, his face easing the pain back to bearable levels. How many times had she awoken alone on that cement slab the _Normandy_ designers called a bed, turned on her side—eyes still closed—and wished to feel his breath on her face … to breathe in and discover that his scent claimed as much ownership of the space as her own.

She pressed her lips tight on a bitter laugh. That was what came out of making her entire life about the work … what came out of a loneliness so deep and ingrained that it formed a second layer of skin just below the surface: invisible but harder than any armour. She'd looked into his eyes, felt the goodness of his heart, heard his voice, listened to the keenness of his mind ... experienced the strength in his arms, and a longing sprouted, growing roots all the way down to the bedrock of her soul.

She dismissed it. She called it a great many names—desperation, fear, friendship, a silly crush—but never the one name that admitted the truth. Not until the day before.

"I dreamed of the monster again," she said, her whisper no louder than a sigh. "But this time, when it swallowed me, I remembered going somewhere so beautiful." Her eyes drifted closed. "Not some lovely garden—all harps and clouds and angels—like people say heaven will be, but paradise all the same. It was dark, but there was nothing to be afraid of, and I wasn't alone. My family were right there: a part of me, and I knew I was a part of them too." Her smile evened out. "I was a part of everyone … untold billions of souls, all at peace, all able to feel everything … all connected. God, Garrus … I can't do it justice, but it was the most profoundly beautiful experience."

Opening her eyes, her gaze wandered along the blue lines of his _familia notas_ , the strong contours of his face. "I wish I could let you feel what I felt there." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, maybe not. If we're alive, and we're stuck here fighting in the filth and the blood, maybe it would be cruel to show you what's waiting for us at the end."

She reached out, stopping her fingers and forcing them down to the pillow less than a centimeter from his face, close enough for his heat envelope to ease away the bloodless chill left behind by the dream. His breaths grew more shallow, coming more closely together as he began to wake. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to touch him since he hovered just on the other side of consciousness anyway.

No, not yet, not before she told him the rest.

"They pulled me out of heaven, Garrus. I don't how long it was, but they pulled me back into my body." She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to remain slow and steady even as the need to run washed through her veins. "I think I slept sometimes, because I don't remember everything, but I remember the pain. I remember screaming, trying to make them hear me." She swallowed. "I remember the pain and the fear."

Making the decision for her, her fingers crept forward to touch the top plate of his mouth. "That's why I can't let them put me back under. It hurts—God, sometimes it feels as if I'm on fire, the flames made of white hot knives—but it's bearable. What I remember …." She traced the warm, textured plate with whisper-soft fingertips the sensation raw and intense on the exposed nerves, but real. "What I remember isn't."

Shepard opened her eyes, her smile returning to tug back one side of her mouth when she heard Garrus's breathing change, just for a fraction of a second before evening back out. For a moment, her own diaphragm hitched at the warm wash of breath stirring her hair. For a fraction of a second, she allowed that picture to form again: lying curled in against his side, his arms around her, his face a kiss away from hers.

Clearing her throat softly to warn him, she pulled her fingers back then tapped the tip of her index finger against the end of his nose. "Faker."

She heard his mandible flick, opening her eyes in time to see his smile. His eyes drifted open, and he lifted a hand, tracing the contour of her cheek with a gentle talon, nurturing her fantasy of lovers waking together. His voice caressed her like velvet as he said, "I didn't want to interrupt."

She let out a long breath, leaning ever so slightly into his touch. He'd said he loved her, and now he touched her as if her tattered old cheek were something precious. Her lips trembled, her smile timorous as she popped her free shoulder toward her ear. "If you heard all that, I have to congratulate you on an epic performance. You had me convinced until just a few seconds back." Her hand inched toward his face, but then fluttered down to settle between them on the mattress.

She stared into his eyes, seeing his weariness there, weariness and so much more. "Sorry if I woke you," she said, addressing that part of his gaze she could identify, "I know you haven't had much sleep." Using her concern as an excuse, she slipped her fingertips along the arched line of muscle in his neck. "I bet you're stiff after sleeping in that position."

"Don't be. I'd rather be awake with you." Garrus's gaze remained fixed on her as he took a deep breath, letting it out slow, almost hesitant. Was he afraid she'd up and bolt? "I think you should look at the Cerberus laptop I found, Shepard. I think it'll put some more of this into perspective for you. And maybe … if you're willing, you can talk some of it over with Dr. Solus." He glanced toward the door as if the mention of Mordin's name might summon him. "He might know why you felt whatever Cerberus did … what they did wrong."

Despite nodding, she made no move to get up. The blankets were warm, the bed comfortable, and he was close enough that all she needed to do was slide forward a little …. Heart thumping quick and light, she tensed to move, the fantasy calling to her, coaxing her to finish it with a kiss. What? Kiss him? Wait. No. A soft snort escaped just ahead of a chuckle. What the hell? Muscles letting go, she melted back into the pillow, cheeks burning. Thank goodness, as a turian, he probably didn't register the cues of moving in for a kiss.

_Recover and quickly. What was he talking about? The Cerberus laptop, right._

She nodded. "I want to look at it, but if it means moving … yeah, I'm not prepared to move yet." As if to emphasize the point, she snuggled further down into the blankets, tugging them up to her ears.

Garrus chuffed, and lifted his head enough to look past Shepard at the boy laying on her other side. Mandibles flaring, he shook his head, scarcely moving. "It's probably not something you want to go over in present company." He settled his head back onto the pillow next to hers, adjusting his arm to give him a little more support.

She pressed her lips together to kill the lovesick teenager grin that tried to greet his return. Maybe the strange little fiction played inside his head as well. "True." She glanced toward the child, but not far enough to see him, afraid to move in case she jostled the bed. The little guy needed to stay asleep as long as possible. He needed to heal. "How does he look? He was such a mess yesterday. Mordin and I couldn't even coax his name out of him."

Garrus wriggled his head deeper into the pillow. "I'd have to get up to get a better look, and 'I'm not prepared to move yet." He yawned … all pointy teeth and curled tongue. "He's out of it, Shepard. Dr. Solus was in here about an hour or so ago and gave him more meds. He's not hurting right now."

"Mordin must have given me a top-up as well, because all my sore spots are screaming at a very livable volume." She shifted a little closer, her brow brushing his. She froze at the contact when Garrus's breath caught, but then he tilted his head, pressing his oh-so-warm brow into hers, and she relaxed. "If we're going to talk, we probably should go elsewhere, but yeah, I'm still too damned lazy." She grinned. "Although from this close, you only have one weird-looking, really glowy eyeball."

Garrus' chuffed, the playful protest at odds with the low hum of his subvocals, the deep, chesty sound comforting. "You wound me, Shepard. My eyeball is perfectly normal-looking. Your eyeball on the other hand …."

She chuckled. "What? Cyclopsian human doesn't do it for you?" Her heart sped up, beating quick and light, his breath soft against her face. Dear and fluffy lord, how did he do it? She tilted her face a little closer and closed her eyes, enjoying the way his thoughtful, considering subvocals rumbled as he teased, making a show out of mulling over her question.

Finally, she felt the bed shift with his shrug as he replied, "Hmm. That depends, are we talking about removing an eye, or just having one big eye in the middle of your face?"

Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she let out an exaggerated sigh. "One big eye, naturally. If I lost an eye, I'd just get an eye patch, and you know you couldn't resist the whole rakish pirate thing. I could get a tricorn hat, stick a … just massive feather in it." She stuck her right hand out from under the pillow, her left stretched out to amaze him with the enormity of the plumage with which she'd festoon her hat. "You'd be completely helpless."

Mandibles fluttering, his chest shook with suppressed laughter. "Maybe we should get you an eye patch anyway, just to see if you're right. We can both get one."

She laughed, surprised. The bed jostled, and she froze, holding her breath to make sure she hadn't woken Radis up. When the child just murmured and went quiet again, she traced one fingertip along the frame of Garrus's visor. "You practically wear one already."

She knew she'd made a mistake holding her breath the moment the door opened.

Shepard leaned up a little as the salarian hurried in, his arm already glowing orange, his scanner running. "L'oeuf, heart rate and respiration abnormal."

She blushed as Garrus made a choked sort of groan-growl combination. Leaning up the rest of the way, she braced her elbow against her pillow. "I'm fine, Mordin. No emergency." She casts a quick, bashful glance at Garrus. "We're just talking."

Garrus's rumble turned distinctly toward the growling end of the spectrum as he sat up. She hid a grin behind her hand as he glared at the doctor, his mandibles flared. A charged silence dropped over the bed as the two males stared at one another.

Mordin broke the deadlock, saying, "Suggest moving conversation to my office." Hurrying over to the bed, he gave Shepard an injection despite her protest, then fussed over the turian boy. "Child still critical. Need to let him rest." After adjusting the child's regen frame setting, he hurried to the door, his hand hovering over the control as he turn back. "L'oeuf needs to get up, eat, have wounds treated. Might as well start now."

Sitting up the rest of the way she nodded, unable to suppress a disappointed sigh. She wanted to slam her arms down over her chest, stick out her lip, and refuse. Her heart—hell, every cell in her battered frame—insisted that it was too early to change everything over to business. She didn't want Garrus to stop looking at her like a gift from the spirits. She knew he'd support her regardless of how freakish a science experiment Cerberus turned her into, but she hated to let go of the fantasy so soon.

"L'oeuf?"

"Okay, Mordin. We'll be out in a second." She stared at him, making bug eyes in an attempt to silently communicate that she wanted him to bugger the hell off. After a good minute, he sighed, made a clucking sound, and left muttering under his breath about stubborn patients.

Garrus chuckled, pushing his chair back as he stood. "I guess we're being kicked out." He held his hand out to her, offering to help her down from the bed.

She wrapped her fingers around his and smiled her thanks as she slipped down onto tiptoes. She stiffened a little, surprised when he drew her in, hesitant but definitely easing her into an embrace. Chuckling, she grinned up at him, slipping her arms around his waist. "Good morning, and damn, this floor is freaking cold." She sobered, but held his gaze, hers warm and so soft that she worried a little that she gawked like a lovesick teen. Then his arms tightened around her and her worries fled.

"Thank you for coming last night. I know you must have just gotten back from taking on Cerberus." Resting her head against his chest, she listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart through the cotton scrubs he wore. "Did Mordin chase you into the shower, ranting about contamination and infection?" she asked, tugging gently at the loose cotton. "Or have you become a doctor as well as a C-Sec investigator, and an Archangel? Truly, a _torin_ of all trades."

Garrus growled softly, his voice taking on a decidedly whiney note when he responded, "He wouldn't even let me put my underarmor back on."

"Yeah, Mordin is militant when it comes to germs." A long sigh eased her further into his arms, the last of her tension fleeing. "Thanks for the sacrifice to stay and watch out for me. I know how you love your armour. She kept her voice to a whisper, terrified of shattering the moment. Right then, she could have spent the rest of the day right there without uttering a word of complaint.

Garrus chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Where else would I be? Spirits, you scared the hell out of me when you answered my call last night. Of course I came." He lifted his shoulders, shrugging. "Not that I wouldn't have anyway, but …."

Her breathe caught, a soft hiccup. Oh. Of course he'd come, worried that something terrible had happened with her sobbing and freaking out like that. He'd always had her back, always would. "Sorry about the scare." She released him and backed away, curling her toes up to avoid the icy floor. As she turned, she saw Garrus's arms drop to his sides, his shoulders slumped.

"I've tried really hard to step away from who I was before the _Normandy_. It just caught up to me last night after taking out those bastards. I enjoyed it … enjoyed taking revenge for the suffering they'd put the kids through." She dragged the soft slippers out from under the bed and grumbled, needing to change the subject as the ghosts from the night before pressed close once more. Shit, the last thing he needed was for her to lose her shit again. "I can't believe Mordin makes me wear these things. It's hardly dignified."

Without looking at Garrus, not wanting to see pity in his eyes, she stepped around the end of the bed. Stopping next to the little guy, she caressed his head, then bent to press a soft kiss to his brow. "You sleep and get well, brave little _torin_. I'll be right outside if you need me."

Finally looking up at Garrus, she said, "I'm going to run to the head. Meet you in Mordin's office?"

Garrus lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, gulping a little as he swallowed: his tell when he's flustered or kicking himself. He bobbed his head and smiled, but it looked forced. Damn, all that easy intimacy, up in smoke. "Absolutely. I'll uh … do you want me to get the laptop set up for you?"

She forced a smile even though she mostly just wanted to run to the head, lock herself in a stall and either scream or cry.

_No more crazy, dammit. You foist any more of your insanity on him, that's it. He won't walk away, but he'll only be staying because he feels sorry for the wreckage of his old commander._

"Yeah," she said, choking a little on the word. "I might as well find out as much as I can." She backed toward the door, turning at the last second to open it. Cots lined both walls of hallway on her right, a child sleeping on each. On one an asari slept sitting up, an arm wrapped around the two asari teens. On another a young turian twitched in his sleep, the _torin_ sitting on a chair next to the bed reaching out to stroke a comforting hand over the youth's neck.

In the reception area, the bluff, sandy-haired, eternally hungry fellow slept in a chair. His head lolled over the backrest in a position he'd regret for days, his mouth wide and snoring at a decibel level that would be illegal anywhere but Omega. Despite appearing dead to the world, he managed to keep a pizza box gripped in his lap.

Shepard looked toward the desk and grinned at Nalah as she pointed to the sleeping man. Mouthing the words, she asked, "Is this one yours?"

The nurse nodded. "He's been waiting there for hours. Refused to go lay down just in case he missed giving you that pizza."

"Pizza angel?" a sleepy voice mumbled, drawing L'oeuf's attention from the reception desk. "Is that you?"

Grinning, she nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks for the pie, Butler."

He grinned, in a sleep-drunken way that made her suspect he thought himself still dreaming. "I love you."

"On second thought," Nalah called loud enough to shove her husband the rest of the way into consciousness, "you can have him."

L'oeuf grinned as Butler's face turned a bright red. She leaned on one hip and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I don't know. I could use some help. Does he cook? Wash dishes? Tend goats?"

Nalah scoffed and rolled her eyes, exaggerating her exasperation. "He makes a bloody great mess and then thanks me for cleaning up after him by staying out until all hours with the team." She pressed her lips into a tight line, but her eyes sparkled with love and humor. "And lately, when he does come home, it's just to extol the glory of and pledge his devoted love to his pizza angel."

Butler blushed a deep crimson, forcing L'oeuf to hide her grin behind her hand. "He just looked so starved and waif-like that first day." She shook her head, aping deep regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to steal him away with my irresistible pizza wiles." Hanging her head, she slouched down into her robe and shoved her fists into the bottom of her pockets. "I … I swear that I didn't want to break up your marriage. I'll just go to the washroom and wallow in my shame now."

Leaving Butler stuttering and gasping, L'oeuf headed toward the head, winking at Nalah as she passed the desk. She had woken up feeling remarkably sane. It felt nice to have some quiet in her mind, particularly after her dream. Maybe the peace originated with the dream: she'd remembered dying and coming back.

_And being tortured. Don't forget screaming silently inside, begging and crying in unfathomable agony until you passed out. Never forget the little kindness of …_ 'We can't risk anesthesia, her systems aren't stable enough. Don't worry, she's PVS; she can't feel a thing.'

Yeah, that would prove fairly difficult to forget considering the torture had driven her stark raving mad. Especially since she'd just finished chasing Garrus away again with her stupidity.

Shepard slunk into the washroom. Stopping at the sink, she leaned against the metal counter, staring at her reflection. "Yeah, that was quite the way to fuck up a perfectly good morning. No fucking joke, you stupid egg, you're not even sunny side up; you're the one that got dropped on the floor before it made it to the pan." Pushing off the vanity, she shook her head before turning away, slamming open the corner stall door.

She hiked up her sleepwear and flopped down on the toilet. "He's a turian, worried about his old commander. It's as deeply ingrained in him as flicking his mandibles, and you go reading all this crazy shit into it." Bracing her elbows against her thighs, she dropped her head into her hands. "You're too damn batshit for anyone to actually want to be with you. Just leave Garrus alone. Let him find someone he doesn't have to nurse maid."

"Talking to yourself never a good sign."

She bolted upright. "Sweet, fluffy lord, Mordin! Can't a woman even pee without an audience?"

She could hear his shrug when he replied, "Am doctor. Not interested in being a spectator to your waste elimination processes, although flow good, system functional." He crossed to the vanity. "Am here to give you medications." She heard him rattling around … judging by the smell, he was cleaning.

"Couldn't this wait until I didn't have my panties around my ankles and my nightgown around my neck?" She tidied herself up and peeked out through the space in the door. "Wash your hands and put on some gloves after cleaning that sink," she said as she eased the door open. Standing at the threshold, she stared him down. "Ah! Come on, get between those fingers, Doc." Craning her neck to peer at his hands. "Do salarians have fingernails? If so, you need to go get a brush."

When the doctor turned to stare at her through narrowed eyes, she offered him a guileless smile and shrug. "What?"

"Wash hands, take medication, eat, return to bed, heal." He rattled off the list while brandishing a very threatening-looking syringe.

She did as she was told despite dreading going across the clinic to sit shoulder to shoulder with Garrus as they read about the horrific Frankensteinian experiments and rebuilding Cerberus performed during her death. "He's going to pity me," she whispered, letting her hands go numb under the hot water.

"Archangel more deeply invested than mere concern for former commander," Mordin said, his voice unusually gentle. "Logical, tactical-minded. Not sort to sacrifice due to ill-conceived charity."

She turned off the water and looked up into the mirror, watching Mordin administer the shot to her reflection. "He said that you've seen some of what Cerberus did to me?" When he nodded, she took a deep breath. "And you think that you could finish their work?"

"Need more information on cybernetics ... methodology, but believe so." He stepped up beside her and turned to lean back against the vanity. "Why so reluctant to allow procedures?"

She turned to face him, mirroring his posture: hip pressed against the edge of the counter, arms crossed. "I felt it all, Mordin." Drawing in a deep, noisy breath through her nose, she shrugged. "Once they got my brain functioning, I wasn't awake, but I felt it all. I dreamed about it last night a little, but mostly I guess it just comes out as the monster in my dreams."

"Monstrous indeed." Mordin lifted his hand to his mouth, fingers curled, knuckles tapping against his chin. "Despite horror of experience, could provide invaluable insight into sensory awareness of coma patients."

Dry and bitter, her chuckle felt like coughing up a lungful of thistles. Trust Mordin to go straight for the fascinating research opportunity. "Yes, well, as I remember and as long as I remain this lucid, I'll be happy to record the experience for the journals, but it's why I don't want to go under again."

Mordin frowned, tapping his chin with a little more force. "When not 'this lucid', what is extent of awareness?"

She frowned and cocked her head a little, pushing into the counter's edge despite—or maybe because of the pain. "Are you asking if I realize I'm not lucid?" Letting out another thistle and nettle breath, she nodded. "It's chaos inside my head. When I do manage to grab an idea, it repeats like a stuck recording. The more simple and familiar the task, the easier it is to focus. Drawing, gardening, looking after my goats." Her forehead pulled down into her brows, the skin knotting between her eyes. "Which I need to go do soon."

She rolled her shoulders again. "So, yeah, I'm completely aware that I'm insane, Doc. I just deal with it the best I can."

Mordin paced, the speed of his crooked fingers tapping increasing with each round. "Need to continue repairs in stages. Need access to tissue cloning facilities ... decrease healing time. Definitely need more data." He made a disgruntled, walrus with sand up its nose, sound. "Cerberus only lead."

"Yeah." She pushed off the counter. "Garrus stole one of their computers. He wants me to see what's on it, so maybe I should go do that." Grabbing the salarian by the shoulders, she turned him around, ignoring his protests as she pushed him out the door.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Fitting the Pieces Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart stuttering in his chest, Garrus looked up, his brow ridges raising with surprise. He'd been preparing himself for the worst, but instead she delivered the best.

Written by MosaicCreme with dialogue and actions for Shepard provided by MizDirected.

Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary:

 **Perir** \- Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

 **Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

 **Obluvis** \- One who is senile or absent-minded. Slang: Idiot

Garrus watched from the doorway, as Shepard stopped to joke with Nahlah and Butler. He lingered there, afraid if he moved any closer to her she'd flee again, breaking the magical moment. Shepard was still there, trapped inside L'oeuf, and he could see her shining through brighter than ever as she grinned at Butler's embarrassment. She always did have a way with people, and Butler seemed to bring out the best in others. He'd have to do something special for him, buy him a month's supply of pizza or something.

_Hmmm. Maybe just a new gun instead._

Shepard walked away, leaving his line of sight, and Garrus turned his attention to putting on his armor. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he stopped to run his hand over the little _perir's_ fringe before making his way toward Dr. Solus' office. Half of his team slept in awkward positions, wrapped around poor, injured, and malnourished children. He stopped to rest his hand on Sidonis' shoulder, letting the other _torin_ know he and the others could leave whenever they wanted. Sidonis nodded absently, turning his attention back to the _perir_ laying next to him.

In Dr. Solus' office, Garrus pulled out the desk chair and sat down, stacking datapads and setting them off to the side to clear a space for the laptop. Settling the bag in his lap, he took a deep breath to steady himself. Showing the contents of the laptop to Shepard felt like a dangerous gamble, but he promised her he'd help find out what happened to her. Determined to see it through to the end, Garrus opened the bag and set up the laptop, booting it up and opening the first folder she'd need to see.

He sat there for a few minutes, staring at the Cerberus logo, swiveling the chair back and forth while he waited. Where was she? Panic started to creep its way up his spine, little tendrils of darkness wrapping themselves around his vertebrae. If she ran again, it be because of him, because he had to open his mouth and say something stupid, pushing her away when all he wanted to do was pull her closer. Garrus checked the time, trying to think of how long it'd been since she left his sight, but he didn't know when that was and … he bolted out of the chair, nearly jumping over the desk to get to the door.

_Spirits, she ran again!_

Slamming his fist against the door's release, Garrus growled at himself. He sucked in a breath, relief hitting him like a charging krogan when he saw her across the room, talking to Butler. She smiled, her grin breaking into a chuckle at something Butler said. Garrus flicked his mandibles and chuffed, watching as Butler held the box of pizza out to Shepard, and she tucked it under her arm.

She turned toward Dr. Solus' office, the toe of her slipper catching on the floor when she saw him standing in the doorway. She looked down at her pizza. "Thanks again, Butler. Cold pizza is one of my favorite breakfast foods." She took a couple of steps toward the office.

Garrus smiled encouragingly and stepped aside so he wasn't blocking the door, waving his arm out toward the desk. "It's ready for you."

"Thanks." She sidled past him, pizza held like a shield until she got into the room. Her heels scraped across the floor when she glanced at the laptop. Shepard took a shaky breath, pushing her shoulders back, and made it the rest of the way to the desk.

Garrus tried to ignore the distance he felt between them. Seeing her do everything she could to avoid touching him as she crossed the threshold, tore into his heart. He moved to the desk, pulling the chair out for her and pointed at the screen. "So, hmm. I think this is probably the best place to start."

"Thanks," she said, then chuckled, a sharp, bitter sound. "Again." She sat in the chair, the pizza on her lap. "So, what are we looking at here?" She squinted at the screen on an angle so she remained facing him, but after she began reading, her attention shifted fully to the laptop.

Garrus paced away a few steps, turning to lean against the wall, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He wanted to give her space, but didn't want to go so far away as to seem like he didn't want to be with her. "Uh, well to start it's information Cerberus gathered on the missing human colonies in the Terminus Systems. They think … well, I'll just let you read it for yourself."

 _She's not going to believe it if she doesn't see it for herself._ Tarc, _she still might not. I barely do._

She read through the file, setting the pizza down on a side table. "So, Cerberus believed in the reapers? But why would they think they needed me to face them? No one believed me outside of Anderson and the crew." Shaking her head, she scrolled down the page. Her heart rate spiked on the blue readout of Garrus' visor. "None of this makes any sense." Smelling strongly of frustration, she pushed away, turning to take a piece of pizza out of the box. "I'm not some fucking superhero."

Garrus hummed softly, hoping to keep her calm by staying calm himself. "It's because no one else believed that they thought they needed you. You didn't back down, didn't give up, and when the time came, you led the fleets against Sovereign. Now human colonies are going missing, and they think it's the collectors working on the reapers' behalf." He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "It's Cerberus, Shepard. Not much of what they do makes sense, I can see why they thought you would champion their cause against the collectors and reapers … I just don't understand why they would bring you back from the dead to do it."

She pulled back, a tight knot of a frown tying itself between her eyebrows. "Why would you think I'd champion the cause of terrorists? Especially after all the things we saw?" She threw the pizza slice on top of the box, untouched. "Because I'm the Butcher of Torfan … the human willing to slaughter aliens—"

Tarc _, what did I say wrong? That's not … oh, Spirits._

Garrus chuffed, pushing away from the wall, holding both hands out in surrender. "Whoa, hey, Shepard. That's not what I said, and it's not what I meant." Garrus shook his head, taking a slow breath, trying to choose his next words carefully. "I said I could understand why _they_ would think you'd help … because it's the reapers we're talking about, that's it. That's all I meant. I can see why they'd think you'd be willing to fight against the reapers, stop the collectors from taking more people." He could feel her slipping away again, and the scent of his own desperation filled the room in thick clouds heavy enough to make him choke.

She turned back to the computer. "If they thought they could recruit me, they were wrong. I've already sold my soul to the devil to save people." Bracing her elbows against the edge of the desk, she leaned forward, resting her forehead in her hands as she read. "So Cerberus thinks the reapers are using the collectors to take out human colonies. Why?" In a sudden, violent burst of movement, she shoved the computer away, leaving it teetering on the edge just like her. "None of it makes sense. This isn't telling me anything, just that they dragged me through months of the worst hell imaginable in order to have a Shepard puppet." She shook her head. "I'm not living with someone's hand up my ass. Dance little Spectre, dance."

Garrus walked over to the desk, pulling the laptop back to stable ground and closed the lid. "Shepard …." He reached out, wanting to touch her but thought better of it, dropping his hand to his side. "It doesn't matter what they wanted, you're not with them." He talked softly, keeping his voice as mellow as he could despite his muscles balling up into tight knots beneath his plates, tense from her reaction. It wasn't what he expected at all, and he wasn't sure what to do to help her. "And they're not going to get their hands on you again. I thought reading these files would help you to understand what happened … understand you're really here." He gulped, dropping down into a crouch next to her chair. "But I'm an _obluvis_ and didn't understand how much this would upset you. So maybe that's enough for now, the rest will be there if you decide you want to read it another time."

Lacing her fingers, she held her breath, and swallowed. She rubbed her fingers against one another, twisting them together. She looked away from him and pressed her eyes closed. After rubbing her lips together, she swiped the back of a hand across them. "It says someone from the _Normandy_ turned over the few shreds of me that survived dropping through Alchera's atmosphere." She sniffed. "Do you know who?"

Garrus took a deep breath and shook his head, his mandibles flaring. The chaotic mix of scents rolling off of her crashed over him in heavy waves. "I don't, I'm sorry. The files only say 'she'. I can't imagine Tali, Liara, or Dr. Chakwas doing it … so, it has to be someone else. Or maybe it's a lie, I honestly don't know. It could just be something they fabricated; planned on showing you when you woke up." Garrus rested his hand on the arm of the chair. "How do you feel about calling Dr. Chakwas? Maybe there's something she can tell us, or someway she can help you?"

"Chakwas." The name came out like a sigh. "Scariest person on the boat." Her hands dropped to her lap. "You know, as strange and detached as it feels … " She looked into his eyes and shrugged, one shoulder lifting toward her ear. "... the other story is easier. It makes more sense."

_Not for me, Shepard. Not for me. Nothing in this galaxy made sense without you in it._

After staring at his hand for a moment, she lifted hers to rest on top of it. "Chakwas is going to want to lock me in a hospital." She smiled and shook her head. "I'll end up Cat 6'ed and thrown in a padded room." Her right eye betrayed her, a tear slipping down the slope of her nose before she swiped it away.

A distressed keen rolled through his chest, and he hung his head to cut it off, staring at the floor between his knees. He swallowed several times, but the knot in his throat refused to budge. When he spoke, his voice came out hollow and cracked, "I don't know what to do, Shepard. I don't know how else to help you. Tell me, and I'll do it, but I'm shooting in the dark here."

She sniffed. "You and me both. I don't know what to do with any of this." She paused a moment. "As much as I don't want to, maybe we need to meet with the uptight Cerberus chick … get more than pieces of information." She chuffed, a phlegmy sort of snort-cough combination. "Not that she won't lie through her teeth, but if they wanted me to take on this fight against the collectors, they must have had a plan beyond 'hand Shepard a gun and point her toward a collector'."

Garrus jerked his head up, turning his gaze back to her, horror stricken by the suggestion. Pushing himself up to his feet, he rubbed his jaw. "Shepard, I'm not sure that's …."

_Careful._

"I mean, wouldn't walking into a meeting with her just be giving her the chance to make a grab for you?" He took a step back, turning to pace the floor. "What if … what if I find her, bring her to you in handcuffs. It's the only way we can make sure she's alone."

She nodded. "Well, I'm certainly not walking into their headquarters, so yeah, we'd have to make sure we had the advantage." Meeting his eyes, she raised her brows and shrugged a little. "That's what Archangel does, isn't it? Protect people from the bad guys?"

Garrus stopped his pacing, his mandibles fluttered, determined to express his anxiety like it or not. He glanced down at his hands as if they might hold the answers for him and shook his head. "I'll see if I can find her location, it might take a couple of days, but I'll bring her in. I'll …" He curled his talons into fists, opening and closing his hands. "I'll make sure she gives you your answers."

She stood, facing him. "Thank you." Reaching up, she touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I'm sorry I'm such a disaster. I wish I could just be her, but she died. I'm what's left … or what they managed to bring back." Swallowing, she pulled away and stepped past him. "I'd better check on Radis and then go look after Splash and Coco." She paused at the door. "Thanks for helping me with this."

Garrus swallowed, fighting back the urge to scream and rage against the injustice of it all. He turned, his gaze following her as she walked away. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, he could still see the old Shepard inside of her, but even if the woman he knew was gone forever, he'd do anything and everything he could to ease her pain. He didn't have the words to tell her, and she didn't seem to hear him when he tried. So, he told her the only way he could; the only way he thought she might understand. "I love you, Shepard. Take care of yourself."

She took a couple of steps, her eyes studying the concrete floor, letting his words hang unanswered in the air. He didn't care, she didn't need to say it back. Telling her he loved her wasn't something he did lightly, and it might never come easy, but if it helped her at all, he'd keep saying it every chance he got. She looked up, glancing outside of the office, a slight frown tugging the corners of her mouth. Garrus followed her line of sight and saw Dr. Solus watching her. The salarian shook his head, and Shepard sighed.

She twisted to look back over her shoulder at Garrus. After a second, she took a deep breath. "Would you like to come? You said you'd like to meet them."

As soon as he heard the word 'come', Garrus took long strides back to the desk, bagging up the laptop without even bothering to shut it down. "I'd like that." He didn't know what passed between Shepard and the doctor, but he'd have to remember to thank Dr. Solus for it later.

"I'll get dressed and meet you back out here?" Her eyebrows twitched with the question.

Garrus nodded, his mandibles fluttering. "I'll be waiting." He tried for a smile, but knew it didn't sit on his face right.

He watched her leave the office, the door sliding closed behind her. Only then did he allow his shoulders to slump and let out a defeated sigh. Knowing he had only a few minutes to wallow in the rising sense of hopelessness, Garrus plopped back down into the desk chair and dropped his forehead to the table with an audible thud. The keen he held back earlier rose up in his chest, making his throat ache until he let it roll out of him, high and filled with sorrow. He struggled to keep it quiet enough so it didn't reach Sidonis. Garrus didn't want to explain himself to the other _torin_ if Sidonis came running in to check on him, but with each passing second he found it more and more difficult to care.

_Why should I care? Shepard's alive and in desperate need of … some kind of help, and everything I say just seems to make it worse for her. I thought for sure Dr. Chakwas … she always seemed to like Dr. Chakwas. And the Alliance wouldn't … would they? She's Commander Shepard! They'd be happy to have her back, wouldn't they? She's a hero._

The door opened and Garrus glanced up to see Weaver standing in the doorway. She lingered there until Garrus dropped his head back to the desk, then he heard her come inside and the door close behind her. She didn't say anything, just came to stand beside him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder.

Garrus rolled his head along the desk's surface, turning until he could see Weaver out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know how to help her."

Weaver patted his armor and smiled sympathetically. "You are helping her. What she's been through, boss … that kind of thing takes time to come back from. It isn't going to happen overnight, no matter how close you two were. But having you be there for her … be patient with her, it'll help her come around."

"Spirits. The only time I've ever been patient is while waiting to line up the perfect headshot." Garrus chuffed, sitting upright.

Weaver laughed and patted his shoulder again before letting her hand slip away. She turned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaned against the desk. "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit."

Garrus held his hands up, flashing his empty palms at the ceiling before letting them flop down to the desk. "I keep saying stupid things."

Weaver grinned. "All men do when they're in love. Doesn't matter the species."

He hesitated, turning his gaze to study her with narrowed eyes. "Everyone knows, don't they? Have I been that obvious?" Chuffing again, Garrus sat back in the chair.

Weaver let out a quick bark of a laugh. "Are you kidding? We all knew before you even did." She slapped him jovially on the back before moving around to the other side of the desk. "Just be patient and give her time, boss. What's our next move?"

"Miranda Lawson. We find her and bring her in, alone. Shepard's got questions, and Lawson's going to answer them." Garrus held Weaver's gaze, waiting to see if she would argue with him, tell him it was a stupid idea or tell him they had bigger problems on Omega to worry about.

She only nodded her head and turned toward the door. "I'll get the team started on tracking her movements. Let us know when you're ready to make your move."

"Weaver," Garrus said, stopping her before she could leave, "thank you."

"Somebody's got to keep your sorry ass from falling apart." She winked, flashing her rows of white, blunt teeth at him before leaving him alone once more.

Garrus stared at the closed door a moment, taking slow, deep breaths, and then he pushed himself to his feet. Slinging his bag back over his shoulder, he left the office. Shepard waited for him near the lobby entrance, and just seeing here there renewed his determination, bringing a genuine smile to his face.

He led Shepard out of the clinic to one of the skycars his team brought in the night before. He felt bad for a whole two seconds, taking one of the vehicles from his team, leaving them to figure out how to get back to the base on their own. He brushed it aside easy enough knowing they'd manage, and he'd be able to spend more time with Shepard. Opening the door for her, he stepped aside. "Uh, unless … do you want to drive?"

Her lips tugged a little to one side. "Gotten brave over the past year and a half, or has the time just wiped your memory of all the screaming and arguments that resulted from my driving?" She moved to the passenger side. "I can just enter the destination coordinates."

Garrus coughed into his fist, his mandibles fluttering. "I haven't forgotten." Patting the top of the skycar, he grinned. "She handles a little better than the Mako … and maybe I've gotten a little braver." He closed the door for her, moving around to the driver's side with his grin still firmly in place. Settling into the skycar, he started the engine and got it airborne, waiting for her to enter the coordinates before taking off.

* * *

Pointing to a large, open area at the front of the hidden corner of the mines she called home, she said, "You can land just there in the center of the open area."

Garrus lowered the skycar to the floor of the mine, turning the vehicle off and stepping outside. He looked around, his mandibles fluttering lightly. The idea of Shepard living in the mines soured his stomach, but to go down there with her … maybe he could convince her to move to the base. He could set something up for her goats, the base had plenty of space in the back. "Lead the way." He offered her a smile, hoping none of his reservations showed on his face.

She shrugged, a light blush reddening her cheeks. "I'll give you the VIP tour." She gestured to the chamber furthest to the left hand side. "That's where I sleep. Nothing fancy, just a cot and a few small appliances." Leading the way, she flicked on the light next to the cot. "Like I said, nothing too exciting."

His eyes caught on the drawings scattered throughout the cavern, across a small crate and stuck to the walls. Sucking in a sharp breath before he could help himself, Garrus held on to it a moment, letting it out slow. His mandibles held tight against his jaw as he looked around, he nodded. "It's not exactly your private quarters on the _Normandy_ , but I suspect as N7 you've slept in worse." He tried for a smile, the movement feeling awkward and unsteady.

_Her wounds will never heal living down here._

"Yeah, crashed in a lot of motels way scarier than this." She stepped toward her collection of weapons, three large racks lined up along the wall. "Being freelance has its perks. I've never had an armory like this before. Hell, I hadn't seen half of these before."

Garrus chuckled, reaching for an M-97 Viper sniper rifle in her collection, something tugging at the back of his mind. He paused to look at her with raised brow ridges. "May I?"

"Of course. The Viper, my personal favorite, although I admit, I thought you'd go for the M-920 Cain." She picked up a krogan shotgun and turned it over in her hands. "I only use a couple of them, but can't seem to part with them, either. This Graal Spike Thrower is something. Saw it tear the head off a vorcha." She shuddered. "Don't think I could ever bring myself to use it."

"They designed it to tear through thresher maw hide. It's not pretty but it gets the job done; does a number on armor." The words came absently as he let his gaze roam over the sniper rifle, turning it over in his hands. He extended the scope, bringing it up to his eye. "Not bad. Be better if you let me fix it up for you, of course." Collapsing the scope, he replaced the weapon on the rack. His mandibles fluttered, little pieces of the puzzle he'd been working out slowly falling into place. "The, hmmm, the warehouse with the staged mercs … that was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Those private bastards are good cash, but they're also ruthless as all hell. I like new recruits to think twice before deciding to join up." She set the shotgun in its spot and took a few steps back. "The sick fuck who runs the organization has it out for me, keeps trying to trip me up, so I leave him little love letters." She hoisted a huge sniper rifle off the rack and held it out to him. "Here, take a look at this beauty."

_Spirits ..._

Garrus fought the urge to run his hand over his crest and shake his head in disbelief. What he'd seen in that warehouse would stay with him the rest of his life. Granted, he'd seen far more gruesome scenes, but the way she orchestrated the whole thing, and then staged them afterward spoke volumes about the severity of her mental state. It shook Garrus to his core, but he wouldn't let her see. He couldn't let her see. Instead, he turned his attention back to the gun rack and the weapon she held in her hands.

Garrus grunted as he took the rifle from her, pulling the heavy weight up to his shoulder to put his eye to the scope. "M-98 Widow. Spirits, Shepard. This thing probably weighs more than you do. Do I even want to know where you found this?"

"Took it off a Blood Pack battlemaster." She grinned. "It looks good on you in a very badass, 'going to rip my own arm off when I fire it' sort of way." Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head. "I could never fire it. Hell, I may or may not have been forced to drag it all the way back here."

Garrus chuckled, his mandibles fluttering as he let the worry from a moment before slip away, happy to let it be replaced by something a little more familiar. "Hmm. Not bad for a battle trophy. You should have it mounted over your threshold; a warning to all of your enemies." Grinning, he lowered the weapon, his arms already protesting the weight of the Widow. "If you want … I can take a look at it back at the base. I can probably figure out something to make it more manageable for you."

She shrugged. "Nah, I'm happy with my Viper: have no patience for reloading every shot. You can have it, play around modding it, and then one-shot everything in sight."

His mandibles flared as he eyed her. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely. I probably was thinking of you when I took it." She ran her hand along the closest rack. "Too many guns sitting here doing nothing as it is."

Garrus grin widened. No wonder he'd fallen in love with her when she had a propensity to always find him new toys to play with. "I feel like," he said, his mandibles flaring, "what's that saying? A kid in a candy store? Is that right?"

"That about sums it up, completely." She sighed and shook her head. "And I can't leave the really badass weapons around for Hock's men. There are some people who just shouldn't have weapons more powerful than a pea-shooter."

"Hock—he's the one you're leaving love letters for?" Garrus settled the Widow back on the rack, having no plans of lugging the thing around the whole time. He'd get it again before he left."Why does he have it out for you?" He stepped away from the gun rack, taking in the rest of the chamber, idly moving about but staying within a meter of her. Squatting down in front of her makeshift coffee table, he picked up one of the drawings of a reaper, taking in the intricate way she'd used the _Normandy's_ explosion to forge the nightmarish image on the page.

_I have to find a way to help her. There has to be someone … something able to pull her back from this dark place she's in._

She shrugged. "I think it's just become a very messed up Wile E. Coyote versus the Road Runner sort of contest. Who can outwit who." She let out a long, noisy breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "He sets the traps, I thumb my nose at him when they fail to stop me."

"I don't know what a wily coyote versus a road runner sort of contest is, but clearly he doesn't realize who he's up against. Why haven't you just taken him out?" Garrus glanced down at the paper in his hand, filing the image away for later consideration.

"He lives on Beckenstein as far as I can tell. I've taken his top dogs out a few times, but it puts him out of business for about a week at most. He's hard to shut down for the same reason I went after him in the first place: he's rich and ruthless as all hell." She pushed off the wall and nodded toward the outer chamber. "I'd better look after the ladies." Screwing her mouth up a little, she frowned. "I brought them here to be company, and I've been practically nonexistent since they got here."

Garrus pushed himself up, turning the paper over in his hand so she could see it. "Can I keep this?" He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "Maybe it'll help me understand things a little better."

"I don't know," she said, tossing him a careless shrug, "not sure I can spare one." She chuckled, the sound coming out so bright and honest it seemed to startled her, and she clapped her fingers over her mouth, cutting it off.

The drawing forgotten, left to fall back to the crate, the moment the beautiful sound of her laughter echoed off the chamber walls, Garrus crossed the little space between them with long strides. Gently, he slipped his talons around her wrist and pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Don't … I've missed the sound of your laughter, please don't hide it from me."

She stared at where his hand still circled her wrist. "Felt a little like a jail break there for a second." Reaching out, she slipped her fingers into his hand and nodded behind her. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the ladies." A slight smirk and a crooked eyebrow accompanied her words as she said, "Be a gentleman, they're in a delicate way."

Garrus smirked, flicking his mandibles. "So … I'm not supposed to tell them they look like food, because I can already tell you, from here, they smell like food."

She shrugged as if telling him he could be taking his life into his own hands by doing so. "You can, but if they go into labor … you're delivering their babies." She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she led him toward the gate.

"Hmmm. How many babies do goats have at once? I mean, if they have whole litters, we could survive off these things." He flicked his mandibles, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Depending on how big they are, Ripper might need two or three to himself."

"You're heading straight into 'feeding Harold in your undies' territory, my friend." She stopped at the gate. "That's how big they are, and they have one or two kids at once." When the dark brown goat reared up, resting its hooves on the gate, she tickled the goat's lips. "This one is Coco. The black and white one is Splash."

"Wait, who's Harold, and why would I need to feed him in my 'undies'? Shepard, if you want to see me in my 'undies' you know there are better ways of going about it." Garrus chuckled, moving to stand next to the pen, letting the goats sniff at his gloved hand. "They're kind of cute, actually." Garrus coughed. "I can't believe I just said that." Mimicking Shepard's gesture of affection, he used his talons to scratch around the goat's mouth and chin. "Their eyes are fascinating."

"Harold is a thresher maw, and I think that answers your other question, doesn't it?" She unclipped the gate and eased it open so they could step through.

Garrus' jaw dropped, his focus riveted on the readout of his visor, trying to determine if she was messing with him. When the readings came back normal, his hand shifted to check his weapons, making sure they were still secured in their holsters. "Shepard, you're serious? You have a _thresher maw_ living down here?"

"Yep. I found him in a terrarium in a Blood Pack base. He's less than a meter long, and his acid isn't virulent enough to eat through armour." She stepped out of the way to let him into the goats' chamber. "I throw him leftover meat from Zullius' every couple of days, and he keeps pyjaks out of my veggies." She bent over the closest feed tub to scrape out the leftovers. "You willing to get your hands dirty?"

"Always. What do you need me to do?" Garrus wanted to remind her Harold wouldn't stay small forever, but he didn't want to push his luck. He moved to stand next to her, looking down at the mess in front of her.

She passed him the feed tub, then moved to the next. "You're in charge of heavy lifting." She scraped out the second tub and then led the way back out to the chamber filled with her supplies. "I ordered all the supplies I'd need for a year when I bought them," she said, taking the empty bins from his hand, then filling them with dried feed. "But when the supplies arrived, Aria had added a whole crapload of stuff. At the bottom of the pallet, she'd hidden a small, wooden box my father carved for me one Christmas." She patted one of her pockets. "The box was full of pictures and old keepsakes … the only things I carried away from Mindoir."

Garrus squatted next to Shepard and reached down inside his armor, tugging up the edge of her scarf he still wore around his carapace. "I could smell her on this." He tucked it back down inside. "You know she has Sookie on display in Afterlife? How'd she get ahold of so many of your belongings?" Picking up one of the filled feed tubs, he balanced it on his knee while he scooped up the other.

"Yeah, I saw Sookie." She shrugged. "It was all on the _Normandy_ , but it would have meant salvaging my quarters, and Sookie was in my locker." She rolled down the feedbag, then leaned against it, her arms braced. "Do you think maybe whoever gave me to Cerberus took my things as well?" A rough, derisive cough cut from her throat. "That's awfully damned mercenary."

Garrus swallowed, using standing up as an excuse to buy time. "I don't know. I suppose it's possible, but I'm still having trouble believing anyone from the _Normandy_ would've given you over to Cerberus." Garrus started moving back toward the goats' pen. "Wouldn't the Alliance have gone looking for the crash site as soon as we went off the grid?"

"Yeah, I launched a distress beacon before going after Joker." She followed him back to the pen, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. "Unless someone else was out there or hacked into our comms, I don't see how they could have beaten the Alliance out there." She took one of the bins from him and set it under the tap she'd installed in the water line. "I mean, it's all sort of starting to seem orchestrated." She turned the water off and covered the bin before sliding it back into its spot. "Does that sound paranoid? It feels paranoid."

Garrus lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "There's a lot going on here we don't know about. The _Normandy_ did go down in the Omega Nebula, so Aria would've been closer, but it doesn't explain how she knew. Unless she has something going on in the same area." He shifted his weight, glancing around the goats' pen. "I know they said it took a couple of days to locate and bring in all of the escape pods." He chuffed, shaking his head, the memories of those long days stuck in the pod with Joker weighing down his shoulders, making it hard to breathe. "Felt like cycles. Maybe they slipped in while the Alliance was rounding up survivors."

Once both feed tubs were covered, she headed back out to grab the skip bucket and rake. "Maybe Anderson or Kaidan would know what was going on." She raked up the dirty shavings and threw them in the large plastic bucket. "Are you in touch with anyone else? Liara? Tali?"

"Liara and Tali have given up on me." He hesitated, wondering if he should explain the statement but decided to let it slide. "I can reach them, though, if you want to talk to them. I'm sure they'd be really happy to hear you're alive. Wrex is on Tuchanka. I don't really know where Kaidan is—he's probably been re-stationed. I'm sure Joker and Dr. Chakwas would want to know, too." Garrus hummed softly. "Joker blames himself, you know?" He didn't mention that for the longest time, he blamed Joker, too.

She nodded, but didn't look up. "Not his fault." Concentrating on the work, she raked everything up. "More questions for Miss Cerberus, maybe? Be easier than trying to deal with Liara or whoever."

Garrus flared his mandibles. "Yeah." He paused to swallow. "We'll get what answers we can from her."

"She's a place to start." She nodded at the skip. "Would you mind dumping that over the edge?"

He picked up the bucket, carrying it out of the pen and over to the deep, dark hole on the other side of the skycar. Glancing down for a second, he shrugged and tipped the contents of the bucket over the edge. He wondered where the hole emptied out, but figured on Omega it didn't really make much of a difference unless it landed right in Aria's lap. Carrying the bucket back to Shepard, he sat it down next to her feet. "You don't want to talk to Liara and the others?"

"No." She wrapped her hands around the rake handle, her fingers wringing a little. "I … they … well, they just don't need to try to deal with all of this." A soft, sad combination of sigh and chuckle followed her words. "Neither do you, but you tripped over me, so you're stuck." She leaned the rake against the wall, and headed out to get shavings. "Mind carrying the wood shavings for me?"

Garrus followed after her. "If by tripped over you, you mean suffered through days on end of hearing Butler talk about the Pizza Angel because you decided to feed him like a stray varren …." Garrus stopped in his tracks, shaking his head. He couldn't keep brushing aside the heart wrenching things she said, opting for humor as his primary means of communicating with her, even if it meant putting his foot in his mouth again. "Spirits, Shepard. You have to know I'd be devastated if I found out you were alive, here on Omega, and never found you. You're not a burden to me." He reached out for her hand, tugging her gently to get her to turn around. "You're a miracle."

Staring at their connected hands, she nodded. "Not sure about the miracle part, but …. " She squeezed his talons. "If you think it will hurt them not to know, then you can tell them, but it has to be clear that I'll contact them when I'm ready." She met his eyes for a second before continuing. "Come on, chores don't do themselves."

Garrus swallowed, nodding vigorously. "I won't even tell them where we are … although Liara and Tali already know I've been on Omega for awhile now. Hmmm, I suppose Wrex does, too." Garrus shrugged. "Okay, well obviously I didn't think that through. But I won't tell anyone else. They'll be so relieved to know you're alive." He let her lead him off, leaving his hand in hers as long as she allowed him too.

She walked a few steps before stopping, the bag of shavings in her free hand settling to the floor. "And … Garrus … no matter how crazy I get, no matter if I come completely unhinged and end up in that padded room …." Glancing over at him, she pressed her lips together and squeezed his talons. "I want you to remember something, okay?"

He fought back a cringe. Hearing her talk about the possibility of things getting worse instead of better felt like being doused in ice water. He didn't trust himself not to say something stupid and make matters worse, so he squeezed her hand in return and swallowed before nodding his head, letting his gaze drop from her eyes.

"I love you, too. As messed up as everything is, finding you is my miracle."

His heart stuttering in his chest, Garrus looked up, his brow ridges raising with surprise. He'd been preparing himself for the worst, but instead she delivered the best. Holding his other hand out to her, he tightened his grip on her hand, giving her fingers a little tug. Shepard stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his armored chest. His breathing hitched; the warm, summer aromas that seemed sunbaked into her skin cutting through the other scents of the mines surrounded him. Inhaling deeply, he held onto that little piece of her, keeping it safe inside himself. Humming contentedly, he slid his hands along her arms, bringing them to rest against her back. As much as he'd been struggling to convince her that she was real, it still caught him by surprise how solid and warm … and alive she felt in his arms.

After a moment, Garrus shifted enough to get her to pull her head back. When she looked up at him, he cupped her cheeks in both hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say that," he said, taking a shuddering breath and running a talon along her jaw, "and now that I have, I don't think I'll ever be able to hear it enough."

* * *

Garrus pulled off his glove, running his bare talons over Shepard's head, pushing stray locks of hair out of her face. She slept peacefully, her body curved around Radis. The _perir_ slept just as soundly, but according to Dr. Solus he'd been in and out of sleep while Shepard and Garrus tended to her goats. Shepard went straight in to see the _perir_ the moment they reached the clinic. Radis definitely worked his way into her heart, and Garrus had a feeling she wouldn't be letting go of him anytime soon. Maybe it would be good for her—for both of them; Radis needed someone to care for him, and Shepard seemed to need something good and wholesome to invest herself in.

Garrus' crew had cleared out, all except Butler and Melenis. When he got back, he found Butler sitting on a cot surrounded by children as he read to them—using dramatic hand gestures and silly voices to bring the story to life. Melenis spoke to her sister on Thessia, trying to make plans for the young asari to be escorted back to the asari homeworld. Garrus had left them to it, following after Shepard just like Coco and Splash. He couldn't help himself, she'd been missing from his life for so long …. He'd have to leave her soon enough if he wanted to bring in Lawson. He knew Weaver would already be hard at work tracking the Cerberus operative down; only a matter of time before she called to tell him Lawson had been found.

There were mercs and thugs running rampant on Omega. Criminals of all sorts were just begging for Archangel to take them down. He had calls to make to Tali, Liara, and Wrex—but he didn't really know what to say to them just yet. He could be working with Melenis to find placements for the children Shepard saved. There were a million things he could be doing; at least half a dozen things he should be doing, but for the time being, next to Shepard was where he _needed_ to be.


	15. Breakdowns and Turian Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little perir wriggled closer, nuzzling his face into the curve of her neck. "My mari and pari … they ..." Another keen erupted, the sound so raw with grief that it scraped and gouged at her failing heart. For a second, she thought the damaged organ would end up face down in a muddy foxhole under the barrage, but then it took a stronger, steadier beat … and another. Both she and the child bled from more than their share of wounds.

**Written by MizDirected with Garrus's speech and actions by MosaicCreme**

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Puer** \- Pueri plural. Child.

**Drellak** \- Tall, relatively slender four legged herd animals weighing approximately 300 kilos.

**Preteril** \- A small, spiny ground burrowing marsupial analogue found in high meadow and forest lands.

**Ungentira** \- A large warm blooded, cat-like predator native to the high mountains of Palaven.

**Karifratrus** \- Turian blood oath. Forms a lifelong, unbreakable bond of brotherhood or sisterhood.

* * *

The soft buzz of distant conversation eased her from sleep. She checked the chair next to the bed, but no Garrus. Of course. He had a squad to lead, jobs to do, and he'd promised to bring in Miranda Lawson. She couldn't expect him to spend every second doting on her. Still, disappointment settled over her: a heavy blanket pressing her into the bed. The rare moments she spent in his arms anchored her, keeping the pain at bay enough for her to breathe.

Letting out a long sigh, she settled back onto her side, facing the turian child. Radis. Copper-coloured eyes, heavy with sleep, met hers. She smiled and caressed his adorable little face with her index finger. "Hello there, handsome. How are you feeling?"

Uttering a low subvocal, the child pressed into her touch. "You saved me." His mandibles dropped, quivering with pain. "It hurts." A soft, juvenile keen reverberated between them, the sound trembling with anguish. He closed his eyes, the cry growing in strength, as if he poured more and more of his soul into it.

"Shhhhh, take it easy, or you'll undo all the work Dr. Solus did to fix you." She caressed his cheek gently then tapped the end of his nose. "It'll get better, sweetie, I promise." Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to his center brow plate. "Shhhhh, now. I know it hurts, but it'll get better."

The little _perir_ wriggled closer, nuzzling his face into the curve of her neck. "My _mari_ and _pari_ … they ..." Another keen erupted, the sound so raw with grief that it scraped and gouged at her failing heart. For a second, she thought the damaged organ would end up face down in a muddy foxhole under the barrage, but then it took a stronger, steadier beat … and another. Both she and the child bled from more than their share of wounds.

Stroking his narrow back, gently so she didn't hurt him, she held Radis in a loose hug. "Shhhh. I know. I know, baby. You're safe with me." She kissed the top of his head. "Shhhh. The people who did this to you are gone. They can't hurt you or anyone else ever again." Blowing a heavy sigh out through her nose, she pressed her lips to his brow. "You'll get better and even though you'll miss your parents, you'll remember how to laugh and play again."

She pressed her eyes closed as her breath began to stick to the back of her throat. A hand wrapped in razor wire clamped down on her airway until the air wheezed through. "I know that everything feels scary and bleak right now." She rocked him, just a bare sway back and forth as he keened into her neck. "I'll look after you. Okay?"

"Doubt child ever played." Mordin cleared his throat from the door, but she didn't move, waiting for the doctor to cross the room. "Children don't play on Omega." The doctor checked Radis's IV, injecting a syringe of meds into the port. "Too young for gangs. Likely spent days hiding while parents worked." Omnitool glowing, he swept his arm over the child. "Healing well. Will be ready to release in a couple of days. Removing regen frame later. Needs to get out of bed … move."

She kissed Radis's brow. "I could take him for a little walk." She pulled away far enough to meet his gaze. Looking into those beautiful, trusting eyes … imagining him hiding in some grungy apartment, holding his breath every time he heard footsteps outside and jumping every time something bumped or metal contracted … well, no child deserved to live like that.

She smiled at Radis. "Would you like that?" His stare latched onto her, delicate claws of pure terror clutching and grasping, struggling to find a secure hold. Her heart folded in on itself, a thin, golden cord weaving between them. She remembered the gray and foggy, mud-caked trenches that waited ahead of him as they'd once stretched before her. When her family was taken, she found herself alone in a life every bit as bloody and treacherous-feeling as battle. No shelter or sustenance awaited her, just endless fire from all sides and loneliness. No matter what it took, she'd make sure he didn't face that battle alone.

"I'll keep you safe." Pressing her palm against his cheek, she met his gaze with a determined one. "I promise you that. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again." She drew him back in, as gentle as a sigh, stopping when he reached up, one delicate little talon touching her cheek in the center of a deep, spiral wound.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, lifting his head a little. "What happened?"

"Yeah, it hurts a lot." She took his hand in hers, holding it between them. "I was in a really bad accident, but I'm getting better."

Mordin sniffed as he busied himself with his omnitool. "Not as quickly as you could if allowed me to help."

Shepard shot a quick scowl at the doctor. "Not the time, Doc."

Radis shifted a little higher, his mandibles drawing up and twitching with pain at the movement. "You won't let the doctor help you?" Keen, confused eyes glanced back and forth between them. "Don't you want to get better?"

"L'oeuf afraid it will hurt," Mordin said, spilling her secret without anything more than a challenging stare. He shrugged off her glare. "How can you promise to take care of child when you don't take care of self?"

She stared at the doctor, not upset with him, but not sure how to deal with his reveal. She didn't want Radis to be afraid of treatment. He'd been through enough already. When the little guy shifted away from them, withdrawing, she reached out and took his hand.

Damn that meddling salarian. She blew a noisy sigh out her nose.

_Okay, Mordin, you pain in the ass. You want me to take the bull by the horns … I can do that._

"How about I make you a deal?" she asked. "If you're brave and let Dr. Solus keep making you all better, I'll let him help me too." A gentle squeeze on his fingers drew a hopeful look. "You and me, we'll get better together, okay?"

Radis nodded, his mandibles fluttering softly before relaxing a little. "Okay, L'oeuf," he said, ducking his head in the same way Garrus did when he felt particularly awkward and bashful. "You'll look after me?"

"Look after you?" She grinned and pushed herself up on her elbow to lean close to his aural canal. "You bet I will. We're a team, now, right?" When he nodded, happiness shining through cracks in the pain and fear, she leaned even closer and whispered, "And my name is Jane, but that's a secret, just between us, right?"

The child glowed even brighter. "I promise, on my honour."

"Serious oath from a turian," Mordin said, a very salarian smile on his face. The expression faded before it could threaten full blown mirth. He nodded to Radis, firm and stoic. "You need to eat." Looking over the child at L'oeuf, he said, "As do you. Other children listening to story. Good time to discuss their disposition."

Disposition? The word set her heart pounding: fists hammering against cage bars. The children weren't trinkets to be handed off to second hand stores. Oh well. Replying with a curt nod, she slipped down off the bed, her sweats feeling chill after the warm blankets.

Turning to Radis, she smiled. "Would you like to listen to the story with the others?" She slipped on her boots, buckling them along the side. When the child didn't answer, his eyes glancing between her and the door, she lifted a blanket off the bed. "Come on, we'll go out. The others are really worried about you."

L'oeuf and Mordin helped Radis and his regen frame down off the bed, then she guided the _puer_ to the door with a gentle hand on the back of his head. When the door opened, Frelis and Daie let our ear-splitting shrieks and jumped up, racing over to hit the floor on their knees. Hands hovering over Radis without touching, they seemed to be confirming the reality of his existence as an avalanche of relieved sounds tumbled out of them.

L'oeuf touched the little turian on the head and bent down. "Will you be all right with the girls for a little while?" She smiled as he pressed close, taking shelter in against her leg. "Okay." Groaning the entire way down, she crouched next to him and pointed toward the gaggle of kids all gathered on a couple of cots. When she saw Garrus sitting in the middle of them, a datapad held in his talons, she raised her eyebrow, a wry grin tugging her smile off to one side.

Garrus looked up, and seeing her, let out a soft chuff, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. She grinned, shaking her head a little, then looked back to Radis.

"Do you remember the big guy over there?" she asked, tipping her head toward the turian. "He watched over us while we were sleeping."

Radis squeaked a soft affirmative and tucked himself between her knees, practically burrowing into her.

"He's my very best, most trusted friend in the whole galaxy." Eyebrows raised, she nodded and smiled when the _puer_ gave her a dubious look. "It's true. You're safe with him. Just as safe as you are with me." She kissed his temple and then tucked the blanket around his shoulders. "It's okay, you go sit with Daie and Frelis and listen to the story. I'll be right back."

Smiling at the girls, she reached out to stroke the batarian's cheek. "You two are looking a lot better. Glad to see it." She stood, her groans reaching symphonic proportions on the way back up. "Can you two make sure Radis gets some food into him?" Giving the little turian gentle encouragement, she managed to ease him into Daie's care. "I'll stand right here for a few minutes," she promised, "to make sure you're okay."

Her gaze drifted to Garrus and found him watching her, his mandibles fluttering. She backed up until the wall stopped her. After a second, his clamouring audience drew his attention back to the story.

L'oeuf leaned against the door's frame to watch Garrus with the kids. They stared at him, entranced, their faces moving in sync through a bevy of emotions as the story unfolded. She closed her eyes and just listened, an image appearing behind her eyelids as he performed the characters, using different voices for each.

Dim, golden light streamed from a bedside lamp, bathing the scene in its magic as the turian and two children curled together on the bed. The air stirred with a different sort of magic: the voice telling the story woven with a soft rumble of subvocals so warm and filled with love that they coaxed her skin into goose pimples. Giggles answered the shift of voices, the story interspersed with squeals and tickle fights. She opened her eyes, unable to stand outside that circle of hugs and love. She belonged there, in that tangle of soft, bubble bath scented limbs and toothpaste-minty kisses.

She opened her eyes, the sickly yellow-brown light of Omega shattering the cozy, loving bubble she'd built. Damn. Registering that silence had replaced jovial storytelling, she looked up to find Garrus's gaze locked on her. After a few seconds of the kids looking from the book to Garrus to her, and then back, Garrus broke the contact, mandibles fluttering as he searched for where he'd left off.

"L'oeuf?" Mordin called from her left. When she looked his way, he stood in the doorway to his office. After beckoning to her and Nalah, he stepped back inside.

"Nalah?" Butler said, standing up. "You going in to talk about the …." He tipped his head toward the children gathered around Garrus. When his wife nodded, he jumped up and hurried after her. At the door, he grinned at L'oeuf. "It's good to see the Pizza Angel up and in armour."

Returning the grin, she slapped him on the shoulder. "I don't think I've gone that long without wearing armour in over a decade." She tipped one ear toward her shoulder, shrugging. "Well, while I was alive, anyway."

"Melenis arranged for someone to pick up the two asari," Nalah said as L'oeuf stepped over the threshold. "She'll be taking them down to the docks this evening to meet their escort."

"Excellent," Mordin replied. "The others?" The salarian paced the length of his desk a couple of times, before stopping.

"I've found relatives for a few of them, and I'm waiting for C-Sec to get back to me on a couple of others." Nalah sighed and sort of melted into the chair next to Mordin's desk, sitting with her hands trapped between her knees. "There are still going to be four or five who have no place to go. We couldn't find anything on them."

"Contact children's services on Citadel," Mordin said. "Inquire about available space."

"No pla ...? Children's ser…?" Butler jumped forward, pushing past L'oeuf in his haste to face Mordin. "What are we going to do? Turn them back out to be snatched up by another gang if the orphanages don't have room? Or ship them to some orphanage on the Citadel, so they can run away and end up as duct rats?" His hand cut the air, a decisive slice of denial. "No! No way." He shook his head hard enough that his short hair flew around him in a sandy halo. "We can take them. We've got room, and we were going to have kids anyway. I'm not just going to let them get—" Stopping as quickly as he started, he spun to face Nalah.

Suddenly sheepish, as if he'd just realized his wife might have an opinion, he shrugged, then crouched, his hands on her knees. "They're so young. We can't just leave them to look after themselves." He took her hands in his. "You know I can't do that." The raw emotion in his whisper wrapped fifteen years of history around L'oeuf's throat and drew them tight.

"We're all so broken," she whispered too low to hear.

Nalah leaned forward and kissed her husband's temple. "We'll talk about it at home, okay?" She glanced toward Mordin, then back. "I guarantee we aren't going to let these kids go anywhere they won't be cared for."

"With us, they'd be loved," he said, pressing his forehead to Nalah's. "They've been through so much, baby. They deserve to be loved … to play and fall asleep feeling safe."

The emotion between them drew a hush over the room that lasted only a second, but sparked something that sent L'oeuf's thoughts back to the cheery giggles and loving safety of that golden-lit room in her imagination.

"What about Radis?" she asked, pulling herself back to Omega's greasy light and gritty filth. Holding her breath, she examined the nervous flutter in her belly. What was that? Was she hoping he didn't have anyone? Was she so selfish that she'd wish for a child to be left alone in the galaxy? He deserved to be with family, but she didn't want to lose him. She loved him. No, she couldn't lose him. She needed him. And he needed her. He did, and she could love him. If he had family who loved him, why had his parents been forced to live on Omega?

"—searching for family."

She yanked herself from the whirlwind inside her head, struggling to listen to Mordin. No. No, she couldn't drag Radis down into her hell, using him as some sort of living flotation device. No. Enough. But then her heart began hammering against the back side of her ribs. Adrenaline scorched the lining of her veins, and she backed into the wall, hunching down, her hands clutching the hair at her temples..

No. No. Nonononononononono. In those trusting, agonized eyes, she'd just discovered something that didn't hurt. Radis amounted to a pure, bright source of light and truth. No confusion, no trying to decide who or what she was. With him … well, he felt right. He felt like hers. Tears burned her eyes, salty and acidic, and her scalp ached, her fingers tearing at her hair.

"L'oeuf?" Mordin stood, taking a single step toward her.

No! Pain! He'd use the knives. So many knives cutting. Merciless voices roaring amidst the monster's fire. She shoved herself in the corner, hands braced to hold off Mordin and his knives. "They cut and … and I scream." Both hands clapped back against her temples, fingers gouging into her hair. "No one hears. I scream and scream."

Mordin stopped, hands held out. "L'oeuf, remain calm. Remember what you promised turian child?"

Radis. No. "No! You can't take him." She shook her head, heavy waves of dizziness crashing over her, their current carrying her out to sea. "They didn't look after him. They brought him here … let him get taken." She pounded at her temples, the heels of her hands sending shockwaves through the whirling thoughts, each tangling with the rest. "I promised. I promised that I'd look after him … that I'd keep him safe."

Mordin stepped toward her again, his hands held out. "Nalah, ten cc's of Haloperidol."

Through the red haze hanging over the swirling tide, she fought to grab a solid hand hold on anything, but each time, the current tore her bloodied fingers from safety. Orange light exploded right in front of her eyes, the monster bursting from inside it, parting the surf before consuming it in flame. Throwing her arms over her head, she sank down into the corner.

"It's not real," she said, clawing through the chaos to find her anchor. "Garrus is real. I'm alive."

The orange light flashed outside her shelter, flames licking at her arms. Smoke choked her. Smoke and the metallic, meaty stink of blood.

_Their knives burn and burn. God help me. Please._

No one replied, but their needles stung, stabbing into her neck.

"Butler, get Archangel."

Mordin's voice registered, a thin echo outside the shell of panic. A crack formed. Archangel? Yes! She spread her forearms enough to see between them: Mordin's face glowed with the orange light of the flames.

Somewhere outside the hell of pain and fire, she heard heavy, running footsteps.

Garrus? She looked up to see him pushing his way past the wall of people. "Shepard? Hey, Shepard, look at me." He crouched down in front of her, elbowing the doctor aside. He reached out, talons hesitating for only a moment before settling on her arm.

She jumped, gaze darting to Archan … Garrus's face, the flames flickering over his plates and armour. "They brought him here," she whispered. "He's just a baby, and they want to take him away." She slammed her fists against her temples. "They can't take him. They just can't. He needs me."

Garrus wrapped his talons around her wrists, those points of connection easing the frantic pulse of terror enough to make out the concern in his frown. Pulling her hands away from her head, he stopped their drumbeat against her skull. "You're right," he said, his voice clearing a path for her to follow. "This isn't a good place for children. But uh, we can't help him if you're in here beating yourself up over something that's already happened to him." He slid his talons down, encircling her fingers in his, their warmth melting away more of the panic as he gave them a light squeeze. "We can help him now, though. Right?"

For a moment, she just stared at him, eyes memorizing every contour of his face … no … remembering. She'd memorized every line and shadow two years earlier. Turning her hands in his grip, she laced their fingers. Slowly, the secure comfort of that entwined grip pushed the flames into a full retreat, replacing them with the glare of Mordin's omnitool. "Nowhere is really safe," she whispered. "My parents thought Mindoir was safe." After meeting his gaze for another couple of seconds, she slipped her hands from his grip, wrapping them around his neck. "Only people can offer us any sort of safety," she whispered into his aural canal.

"We'll make sure he's safe, Shepard. All of them. We'll make sure they all go somewhere safe where this won't happen to them again, I promise." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, lowering his voice. "And you're safe, too, Shepard. You're real, and I'm real. I'm right here with you."

His words flowed over her, a warm shower at the end of a hard day, easing her out of the corner. She tightened her grip around his neck as the panic released her. "You've been my safe place since Feros," she whispered, the confession meant only for him.

Garrus's grip on her tightened, his subvocals rolling with enough affection to lift the hairs on the back of her neck.

Before Garrus could do more than inhale, Mordin moved in her peripherals, the distraction pulling loose a grumble as he made that 'fascinated scientist' sound. "Scanning during episode most helpful," he said then stood, moving back to his desk.

She stayed attached to Garrus, reluctant to leave his warm comfort.

Garrus wrapped his arms around her waist and stood, easing her back onto her feet. Plastering her against his side, he turned his head to look at Mordin. "Helpful how? What did you find?"

"Cranial implant malfunctioning. Does not cause episodes, but once emotion high, it causes loops in cognition." He sat and opened his computer. "Repairing implant will ease severity of episodes."

Despite remaining pressed tight against Garrus, both arms wrapped around him, she turned her attention to the doctor. "You can make it so that I don't get stuck?" She looked up at the turian then back to Mordin. "What started it?" She frowned, the skin between her brows knotting. "I've been feeling okay today, and then I was in the crazy place." She shuddered, feeling the tide lapping at the edges of every thought … every breath … trying to pull her back out over her head.

"Mentioned trying to find turian child's family," Mordin said, turning his omnitool on her again like paparazzi hoping for a spectacle.

She winced away from it, burrowing in against the shelter of Garrus's side. "I promised him I'd look after him, and got upset at the thought of losing him." Her heart sped up, the omnitool glaring in her face promising another episode.

Garrus growled softly, the protective rumble easing her fear as the _torin_ tightened his grip on her. "Maybe you can back off with that for a little while, Doc?" The gentle caress of his talons as he stroked her shoulder replaced her fear with certainty. Garrus always had her back, always protective, throwing himself between her and harm even though she rarely needed saving. It was one of the reasons she'd developed such a crush on him.

Garrus chuffed, drawing her back to the present. He remained focused on Mordin. "Or at least ask first. She's not a specimen for study whenever you feel like it."

Mordin muttered, clucking his tongue, but he closed his omnitool and turned back to his computer.

Shepard leaned into the shelter of Garrus's arms, but turned a little to look out the door. Radis sat between Frelis and Daie, the two girls chattering away. The little guy looked at L'oeuf, meeting her regard with a tremulous smile. "I promised we'd get better together," she said to the _torin_ holding her, the low whisper not travelling beyond the circle of his arms. "That I'd look after him." She looked up into Garrus's eyes, meeting his concern with a pleading frown. "I promised."

Garrus swallowed once, then again before he ripped his gaze from hers to look at the little child waiting outside the office. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment, his mandibles fluttering wildly as he turned back to stare into Shepard's eyes. "I've never known you to break a promise."

Heart pounding so hard she felt sure that Garrus could feel it even through his armour, she smiled, then popped up onto her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to the top plate of his mouth. "He's such a sweet little guy. He deserves to feel safe and loved."

Garrus blinked rapidly, the thoughtful frown deepening. She saw him swallow again before he nodded. Lifting her head with a gentle talon under her chin, he pressed his mouth plates to her lips, returning her kiss. "Yeah. Yeah, I think he does."

She smiled at his soft whisper and kissed him again, then tucked her head in against his neck, savouring the feeling she'd dreamed of since Virmire, maybe even earlier.

"Awwwww. Archangel and the Pizza Angel are in loooovvveee," Butler said. L'oeuf peeked out as he turned to his wife, a wide, silly grin on his face. "Did you see that? Aren't they so—"

Nalah slapped Butler in the stomach with the back of her hand, giving him a stern glare. A woosh of air escaped him, his face turning a bright red before he mumbled an apology and rubbed the back of his neck.

A hot blush burned its way up her neck as she tucked her face under Garrus's jaw. In love? A wide, stupid grin blossomed on her face. In love. She liked the sound of that.

Garrus chuckled softly, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. He nuzzled his face against her hair before looking over his shoulder at the man. "Butler?"

"Yeah boss?"

"I know where you sleep." The mock warning in Garrus's voice stretched her grin a little wider.

"Uhhh, yeah, boss."

Pulling back, L'oeuf looked to Mordin. "Can I still take Radis for a walk once you take his frame off?"

The salarian considered for a second then nodded. "Supervised. Eat and take meds first."

She nodded. "Okay. I can do that." Looking up at Garrus, she gave him a hopeful smile. "Feel like being my adult supervision?"

Garrus flicked his mandibles. "Right. Ask the bad turian to be responsible." He grinned at her, pulling her in a little closer. "Try and stop me. Wait. No, don't try and stop me. Spirits, of course I plan on going."

She stretched up on her toes to kiss him. "Thanks, I would have hated to start off by breaking a promise." Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, her side feeling cold and desolate without Garrus pressed up against her. "I guess I'd better go find some food." Despite what she said, she stepped back in against Garrus's side. She turned to Butler. "Is that pizza still lurking around here somewhere?"

"No. Yuck." He winced. "The kids ate it for breakfast before it got disgusting. I'll call Zullius and run down to get you another one." Butler looked out at the kids. "I'll take a couple of the yard apes with me. They're going crazy locked up here."

Shepard relaxed as Garrus's arms wrapped around her, the earlier panic feeling distant, as if she'd watched it happen to someone else. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into his neck, just breathing him in, holding onto the moment of respite for an extra few seconds as everyone outside their bubble returned to the busyness of life.

After a minute passed, she felt a good dozen or so eyes watching them and turned to look out into the other room. Sure enough, the kids all still sat in their spots, staring at them. She smiled. "I think your audience is waiting for the end of the story."

As if in answer to her statement, the questions and demands began. She released him. "You'd better get back before your audience riots."

Garrus glanced over his shoulder, mandibles fluttering. He turned back to Shepard, pressing his forehead against hers and whispered, "You'll come rescue me when it's time for the walk?"

"I promise." She pulled away, giving him a gentle push as she said, "I'll wade right in there and rescue you from the fearsome gang of feral children."

Garrus grumbled, clinging to her until she pushed him out of reach. "I don't know, we might need to call Wrex in on this one." He chuffed, and she heard his back crack a little as he squared his shoulders. Putting on a brave face, he strode to the group of children, the very image of a turian warrior facing the most dire of battles.

She grinned as the kids encircled him, eager faces demanding to know the end of his story. As much as he'd groused about needing to be rescued, once he sat, he didn't look as though he needed help. She sighed as she sat next to Mordin's desk and turned the chair so she could watch Garrus, dividing her attention between her head and her heart.

Mordin's fingers tapping at the computer insisted that she heed the call of her head. She needed to get better for both of her _torins_. Garrus deserved the woman she'd been, not the wreckage he'd just had to drag back from the precipice. Radis deserved to feel safe, and she couldn't give him that in her current condition. "Can you repair my implant?" she asked without looking at the doctor.

"Yes, can do repairs tomorrow morning." He tapped for another few seconds. "Any additional information from Cerberus helpful."

"So," Garrus said on the other side of the threshold, pulling her back toward her heart. He held the datapad upside down, cocking his head as he said, "We were reading a story about a _drellak_?"

Shepard grinned as the kids shouted a chorus of "No!"

He turned the datapad right side up. "Oh, it was about a _preteril_ and a _ungentira._  Right. So we were where the preteril got lost in the forest?" His mandibles betrayed him, giving what could only be called a delighted flick when they answered with another laughing 'No!' "Had the _ungentira_  eaten the _preteril_ yet?"

She cackled out loud at the cries of mixed laughter and horror that greeted that savage development. And he was worried about needing to be rescued? They were eating out of his hand.

Letting out a long sigh, she relaxed down into the chair, suddenly exhausted. She frowned and twisted to look at Mordin. "What did you shoot me up with, Doc? Whatever it was, it's kicking in and then some."

He glanced up, replying with a matter-of-fact shrug. "Injected substantial dose of antipsychotic. Better take walk soon."

"The ones they gave me after Mindoir and Torfan made me feel as if my legs intended to lead a revolt and walk without me," she replied. "Nearly drove me crazy." She shrugged. "Well, crazier." Standing, she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the leathers. "I'm going to go listen to this story." At the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder. "Thanks for everything, Doc."

The _preteril_ and the _ungentira_ fought their way side by side through the forest, proving their worth and honour while L'oeuf chomped her way through three slices of pizza. As she wiped the tomato sauce off her face, the two animals swore their unbreakable vow of _karifratrus_ : oath brothers to the end.

As if they'd been waiting, Mordin and Nalah swooped in, taking Radis into his room to remove his regen frame. She turned the remainder of her pizza over to the starving masses and watched Garrus check in with his people. They loved him, their loyalty and belief in their mission absolute. Good people.

She grinned at the small mountain of kids hanging off Butler as he stomped around the waiting room roaring like some sort of behemoth. Any kids he and Nalah took home couldn't find a better situation. She hoped the batarians found a place with them. They remained huddled together on a cot in the corner, mourning their parents.

A long stretch of rough road lay ahead of all the children. She knew the shape of it. It still rode along, a silent passenger clinging to her back.

Radis walked out of his room, looking caught between being glad to be free of the restraining cage, and nervous at that freedom.

She held out her hand, content to wait for him to edge closer, then take it. Once he placed his tiny talons in her hand, she grinned. "Should we get the big guy to come with us?" she asked.

Without answering, he crowded in against her, taking shelter inside the curve of her arm.

Garrus met her gaze from across the room, smiling. He turned back to Sidonis and nodded his head before walking over to Shepard and Radis. Squatting down in front of _puer_ , he smiled. "Do you need anything before we go? Did you get enough to eat?"

The child nodded, burrowing in a little tighter as he whispered, "Nalah gave me a protein bar, and Doctor Mordin took me to the washroom," into L'oeuf's ear.

"A protein bar?" L'oeuf asked. She planted a kiss on the top of the little guy's head. "You need something better than that. A decent breeze could pick you up and carry you off." Looking to Garrus, she reached out to caress her palm along his mandible, suddenly feeling that sense she'd had before … the sense that she'd found a place safe from the tide, a solid anchor in the swirling foam and detritus inside her head.

Garrus laid his hand over the one pressed to his face, wrapping her fingers in a warm, firm grip. "I know just the place." His brow plates lifted as he ducked his head to meet Radis's eyes. "You wouldn't like _gelaciri, would you_?"

" _Gelaciri_ isn't the turian version of ice cream, is it?" she asked Radis. His answering nod betrayed just a sliver of eagerness beneath the shy fear. Giving Garrus's hand a grateful squeeze, she whispered, "I don't know … Mordin probably wouldn't be very happy about his patients filling up on ice cream."

Garrus pushed himself up and turned to stand by L'oeuf's other side, no doubt to give Radis some space. He took her hand, then leaned down to whisper. "Then it'll be our secret."

L'oeuf grinned and squeezed Radis's hand. "Deal?" When he nodded, she returned it. "Our secret."

* * *

(A-N:  I want to take a second to thank you all for reading.  And to give a shout out to my co-writer's AU Thane/Shepard fic: Targeted Interference.  

[http://archiveofourown.org/works/7141052/chapters/16215125](http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F7141052%2Fchapters%2F16215125&h=tAQFvbHLe)  [https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11989204/1/Targeted-Interference](https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.fanfiction.net%2Fs%2F11989204%2F1%2FTargeted-Interference&h=tAQFvbHLe)  Give it a read.  It's amazing.  I love it to bits.)

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Threats and Kidnappings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaching the entrance, Garrus waited for word that Monteague was in place with his team before hacking through the door's locks. His assault rifle out and at the ready, he moved into the silent building, his aurals straining to hear anything other than the soft footfalls of his team. The reception area echoed, it's silence eerie, the layer of dust thick and void of even a single track.

Written by MosaicCreme with additions made by MizDirected for L'oeuf.

Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary:

**Perir** \- Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

**Puer** \- Pueri plural. Child.

**Buratrum** _-_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

**Precorin** \- Damned. Cursed.

**Maraquil** \- Sea birds of prey. Large white and blue-green raptors that nest in seaside cliffs on Palaven.

**Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

Garrus leaned against the table, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "You're sure you can fix her implants?"

Dr. Solus glanced up from his console. "Am certain. Without full schematics, repairs will be minimal. Sufficient to keep episodes manageable."

Flaring his mandibles, Garrus glanced back out at the main area of the clinic where Shepard sat surrounded by children, Radis clinging to her arm. She seemed content; calm and happy for the moment. Every so often, her gaze would shift to the _perir_ as if she thought he might've disappeared in between furtive glances. Smiling, she reached up, stroking her hand over Radis crest.

Garrus turned his attention back to the doctor. "We've got a lead on that Lawson woman who came here looking for Shepard."

Dr. Solus met Garrus' gaze, blinking once. Salarians weren't the easiest to read, but Dr. Solus in particular had a way of making Garrus feel like he was trying to get a varren to crack under interrogation.

"We could bring her in … see what information we can get out of her …." He raised a brow ridge.

Dr. Solus crossed the room, closing the door to his office before making his way back to his console. "Use back office next to back entrance. Try to keep screaming to minimum. Scares patients." Turning his gaze back to the computer, he ran his fingers over the keys. "Can provide sodium thiopental. Psychoactive medication. Barbiturate. Humans used for many years as 'truth serum.'" He lifted a shoulder. "Also used as part of lethal injection in justice system. Euthanasia, anesthetic, medically induced coma, even psychiatry. Crude medication. Many uses. Easy to produce; cost effective for small clinic."

_Spirits, he's scary._

Garrus flared his mandibles. "Right." He chuffed, pushing away from the table. "Hmmm. So … I'll uh, I'll bring her in."

"Look for data, too." Dr. Solus didn't bother to look up from his console as Garrus backed away.

Making his way back out to where Shepard sat, he smiled when his gaze found hers, savoring the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him. Garrus tilted his head toward the room she and Radis occupied while the _purer_ recovered. A warm smile spread across her face, making him want to feel her soft lips press against his mouth again, and she nodded her head, holding up a slender, gloved finger. He bobbed his head once and made his way to the room, leaning against the bed while he waited.

Watching her while she talked to the children clamoring for her attention, Garrus became awestruck by her strength and perseverance, his heart swelling behind his keel until he thought it might burst. The things she must've suffered at the hands of Cerberus; Spirits, the pain she must be in still—the evidence of their procedures etched deeply in open wounds over every inch of her skin he'd seen, glowing eerily with the lights of countless implants—yet there she sat, laughing and smiling, trying to raise the spirits of those poor children.

She stood up, and Radis clutched at her leg. Frelis took Radis' hand, sliding into the spot Shepard vacated, and the _perir_ shifted to cling to the batarian girl. Shepard wove her way through the crowd, stepping between shoulders and lifting her leg over ducking heads. Looking up, she caught him watching her, and Garrus ducked his head, his mandibles fluttering lightly. The soft sound of her chuckle reached his aural canals, and he glanced back up, finding her gaze locked on him as she made her way to the room.

Shepard crossed the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder at the group of kids before closing the door. Turning back to him, her smile softened as she took hesitant steps closer to him. "Hey you. What's up?"

Garrus reached out for her, his heart doing the oddest fluttering thing when she grinned wider, crossing the space between them to take his hand. He pulled her in closer—seriously reconsidering his commitment to wearing armor all the time—and used a talon to gently push her hair behind her ear. "I need to take off for a little while, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

Something dark and wild flashed in her eyes, but she swallowed, taking a step back from him and nodded. "Yeah, of course." She wrapped her arms around herself, nodding again. "I'm sure you have a lot going on. I don't want to keep you from your team."

Garrus chuffed, shaking his head. He reached out for her again, easing her back to him. "My team is fine without me. Trust me, Shepard, there's nowhere I'd rather be than wherever you are." He pressed his forehead to hers, humming softly. After a moment, he pulled back to meet her gaze. "We're going to get Miranda Lawson. I thought you'd want to stay here with Radis and the others."

Shepard nodded, glancing back at the door. "Yeah, Radis doesn't want to let me from his sight." A soft chuckle escaped her as she shrugged. "And vice versa, I guess. He's such a sweetie." She gripped his hand. "He seems to have some hero worship going on with Archangel as well."

"Well." Garrus coughed lightly into his fist, clearing his throat, flaring his mandibles. "Have you met this Archangel? I hear he's pretty amazing."

Slapping his armor, she arched an eyebrow at him. "I think I heard the same thing." She lifted a shoulder halfway up to her ear. "Heard he's a pretty damn good sniper. Second best on Omega."

"Second best?" He lifted his brow ridge.

The corner of her mouth twitched up into a half-smile. "Have you heard about L'oeuf?"

Laughing, he hooked her chin with a knuckle and lifted her face to his, pressing his mouth to hers. He lingered there, savoring the whisper soft, unfamiliar feel of her lips. His other hand slipping around to splay his talons out over her back, careful to avoid her waist, not wanting to move things too fast and risk scaring her away again. When Shepard pulled back, she beamed up at him, lifting her hand to trail her fingers along the edge of his mandible. Garrus purred, leaning into her touch, and she pressed her palm against his cheek.

"Be careful out there, Garrus." Her brow furrowed, little creases forming around the corners of her eyes. "The Devil has a silver tongue. You can't trust her. The Devil is still the Devil, no matter how pleasing the package he comes in."

_Silver tongue … what in_ buratrum _is she talking about?_

He watched her for a moment, pressing the tip of his tongue against the sharp point of one of his teeth. "I haven't forgotten what Cerberus has done, Shepard." He gave her a slight shake of his head. "I don't have any intention of trusting Lawson, or anyone else who works for Cerberus." He rubbed his talons gently over her back. "But she's responsible for what they've done to you, and if she knows something that can help Dr. Solus get you better, I'm going to make sure that happens."

* * *

Garrus watched the old, abandoned office complex. They'd been stationed down the street for two hours without any sign of movement near the place. Weaver assured him Lawson was inside, so he intended to go in after her … even if the whole thing reeked of trap. He'd made a promise to Shepard, and he'd be _precorin_ if he'd go back to her empty handed.

He nodded his head, moving his team forward. Monteague led half the squad in from the flank while Garrus and the others approached from the front. He wished Shepard stood at his twelve; he missed going on missions with her. She'd give him a hard time, calling his plan reckless, but he knew she'd be walking right in the front door, too.

Reaching the entrance, Garrus waited for word that Monteague was in place with his team before hacking through the door's locks. His assault rifle out and at the ready, he moved into the silent building, his aurals straining to hear anything other than the soft footfalls of his team. The reception area echoed, it's silence eerie, the layer of dust thick and void of even a single track.

He moved around the abandoned chairs to press his back to the wall, easing his way down to peer around the corner. Nothing. Just an empty, dark hall. Flaring his mandibles he nodded at Sidonis to check the doors at the other end of the reception room while he kept eyes on the hall. Sidonis moved to the back, opening first one door and the the next, giving Garrus a shake of his head after each.

Garrus activated the mic on his comm. "Monteague, do you have anything?"

"Not a soul, not a peep." Muffled whispers came over the connection, not quite loud enough for Garrus to decipher. "Weaver says there are some back offices on our side with exterior doors. We're moving to check them out now."

"Keep me updated." Garrus dropped his hand from his mic, nodding his team onward down the hall.

"You got it, boss." Monteague's comm went silent.

Making his way to the next door, Garrus peered inside, finding the office empty save for a desk and chair. No computer or datapads, no pictures decorated the desk; just another empty office. He frowned, moving on to the next door. The second and third offices didn't even hold desks, but the fourth had a dead, cracked, wall-mounted monitor.

They moved from door to door, finding much the same in each office until they reached the end, where the hall branched off to the left and right. Garrus veered right, continuing to check doors until they came to a dead end and then turned his team back around to go the other way. Halfway down the other side, his comm crackled.

"We've got nothing, boss." Monteague paused, his breathing light but his voice strained. "The whole place is dead. We're headed back to you now."

He stopped at the end of the hall, waiting for Monteague's team. The whole thing felt off, leaving his hide tight and his plates itching. He didn't doubt Weaver, she was the best at what she did and if she said Lawson was here … well then Lawson was here. But where? Where were the commandos guarding her? Why weren't they having to fight their way through to the operative?

Monteague rounded the corner from the left, and his team made their way down the hall to Garrus. He could tell that the quiet made Monteague just as uneasy, and Ripper looked like he might decide to charge through the building any second just to rid himself of the suspense.

Weaver stepped up beside Garrus, opening her omni-tool and pulling up the blueprints for the office complex. "There are elevators … which may not work, and stairs down at the end of this hall. A few more smaller offices before we get to them. Three floors in total. From what you've said about this woman, my guess is she'll be here," Weaver said, scrolling through the blueprints to point out an office that took up half of the third floor by itself, "in this office. It has a good view, fire escape, and probably boosts that inflated ego she has."

Garrus hummed, nodding his head. "We should still clear this floor and the second, just in case. We don't need any surprises."

Weaver nodded, her poof of wild hair bobbing and swaying at the back of her head. She closed the omni-tool and resumed her position at Monteague's right. Garrus took the lead, the two teams merging as they moved down the hall, clearing the last of the first floor. Garrus opted for the stairs, bypassing the elevator completely—in part because it looked like it might fall apart if they stepped foot on it. They didn't need to give Lawson anymore warning, and it'd be bad enough if Cerberus troops cornered them in the stairwell but far worse if they caught them in the elevator. It certainly had nothing to do with his growing sense of unease making him not want to split the team up again.

The rustle of fabric, clanking of armor, and krogan feet trying a little too hard—and failing—to move silently, echoed in the stairwell. Garrus almost felt disappointed when they made it to the second floor without being ambushed. He thought for sure they'd have to fight, bottlenecked in the stairwell where Cerberus could easily hit them high and low. At the top of the stairs, he waited for his team to clear the landing, taking up position, weapons ready before he opened the door to the second floor.

He listened, his back pressed to the doorframe before peering around the corner. Empty. As Monteague said, not a soul, not a peep. Garrus flared his mandibles, letting them brush across the inside of his helmet as he stepped out of the stairwell, moving fast to take cover behind a planter. His team moved in behind him, spreading out, checking behind furniture and planters before calling the all clear.

He chuffed, waving Weaver over to look at the blueprints again. The second floor had only two halls; fourteen offices staggered between them. Pushing aside his wariness, he sent Monteague with his team down one side while Garrus led his own team down the other. They met back up by the stairs, no longer surprised to find the floor void of everything Cerberus.

Garrus rolled his head on his shoulders, as much as he could in full armor, and nodded toward the stairs, leading the two teams to the next floor. The third floor reception area had been completely stripped of all furnishings; not a single chair or planter remained to take cover behind. On the same wall as the stairs, the elevator door sat closed. Doors leading to smaller offices on the left and right stood open, the rooms empty. Windows lined the far wall, the blinds closed just like the grand double doors.

He moved to the door, waiting for his team to get into position before hacking the lock. Garrus took a deep breath and looked around at his team before hitting the door's release control. Peaking around the edge of the door frame, Garrus' brow ridges dipped, his mandibles flaring.

Lawson sat behind an expansive desk, centered in front of a full-wall window overlooking the district. Her arms crossed over her chest, she tapped a manicured fingernail against the black leather of her jumpsuit. Arching an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth lifted up in a smile. "I assure you, the weapons aren't necessary, Archangel." She paused, her smile growing wider. "Or do you prefer Garrus Vakarian?"

He chuffed, stepping into the room, turning left and right, his assault rifle lowered and ready to take out any surprises. None. The office sat empty like all the rest. She was really alone. His hide tightened, tugging at his plates. Seeing her sitting there looking all smug, waiting for him to show up, reminded him of a _maraquil, poised to strike_. Garrus growled, low and quiet, the sound reverberating in his helmet. His team moved in behind him, their guns all aimed at the woman behind the desk as if she were a deadly viper ready to strike.

"It took you longer than I expected." Lawson pushed back from the desk, standing, and everyone raised their guns a little higher. "She can't be doing very well." Resting the tips of her fingers on the desk, she leaned forward. "Shepard needs help, and I can help her."

Garrus watched her, plates itching, the sounds of his team shifting beside him filling the silence. She held his gaze, head high, annoying smile firmly in place, begging him to knock it right off her face. She had courage, he'd give her that.

"What are you suggesting?" His mandibles fluttered as he mulled over how to proceed. He expected to have to burst in through a rain of gunfire and take Lawson by force. This … he didn't know what to do with whatever this was.

Lawson walked around the desk, ignoring the wall of guns following her every movement. She leaned against the front of the desk and crossed her arms once more. "Bring her to me. I'll take her back to my lab, and see she gets what she needs."

Garrus snarled, lunging forward to get in Lawson's face. She flared with biotic energy, bringing him to a halt, his assault rifle less than a meter from her abdomen. His team fanned out, surrounding the two of them, keeping their weapons locked on Lawson; Melenis glowing with her own biotics.

"I've got a counter offer." Garrus bit off the growl building in his throat. "You come with me, and I don't kill you for what you've done to her."

She tilted her head, watching Garrus. "She's strong, but she can't continue on like this." Lawson licked her lips. "She wasn't ready to wake up. There are surgeries she still needs; implants that still need further testing and calibration." Her gaze flickered first to Weaver and then Monteague, before moving on to Butler. "Humanity needs our hero back, not the disjointed mess Shepard is now, half alive and half dead."

Ripper pushed forward and with a jerk of his meaty arms, slammed the butt of his shotgun into the side of Lawson's head. He snorted as the woman's body collapsed, falling back over the desk before sliding to the floor. "This was a waste of time. Are we done here?"

* * *

Garrus laid the unconscious woman on one of the hospital beds before looking over his shoulder at Sidonis. "Go get the doctor. Discreetly, please."

Sidonis nodded, slipping out the door. Garrus turned his attention to shifting the cuffs from Lawson's wrists, to secure one arm to the bed railing. He'd torn into Ripper back at the office complex. If Butler hadn't gotten between the two of them …. The krogan was damn lucky his blow only knocked out Lawson. Garrus needed her alive if he wanted to help Shepard.

Ripper stormed off, cursing Archangel's name for getting wrapped up in human drama instead of doing what he was meant to do—cleaning up Omega. Weaver and Krul went after him; Garrus didn't understand why, but when Ripper got in one of his moods, those two were able to calm him back down when no one else could.

Sidonis pulled Garrus aside after that, his hands clamping down on Garrus' shoulders, his subvocals urging Garrus to calm down. Monteague checked Lawson's vitals and slathered Medi-gel over the cut on her temple. Melenis rifled through the desk but found nothing worth their time. After Monteague cuffed Lawson, Garrus was calm enough to pick her up, throwing her over his shoulders, intent on getting her back to the clinic.

A few minutes later, Sidonis returned with Dr. Solus. The doctor sniffed, shaking his head, and Garrus stepped back from the bed, moving out of his way. Dr. Solus opened his omni-tool, waving it over Lawson before checking the readout. Sniffing again, he closed the omni-tool and began prodding at Miranda's wound. Garrus rubbed his hand over his brow and took a deep breath, letting it out slow.

Dr. Solus glanced up. "Will be fine. Move her to back office now."

"You're sure?" Garrus flared his mandibles, relief sweeping over him in spirit-lifting waves.

The salarian doctor sniffed once more but otherwise didn't deign to answer Garrus. He moved to the door, stopping to look over his shoulder. "L'oeuf sleeping; don't wake her. Will bring sodium thiopental. Find any data?"

Garrus shook his head. "The whole place was empty. Not a single console, datapad, or OSD to be found. There weren't even any guards … she was waiting for us to show up." He scoffed. "She actually thought she'd convince me to deliver Shepard to her."

Dr. Solus blinked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "L'oeuf would kill you both."

Garrus chuckled, bobbing his head. "Probably."

Dr. Solus left the room, leaving Garrus alone with Sidonis and the unconscious Cerberus operative. Garrus uncuffed Lawson from the bed, hoisting her up into his arms. Sidonis opened the door for him, and he carried Lawson to the office, using his body to shield the woman from the prying eyes of those in the waiting room. Sidonis pulled out a chair, and Garrus settled her down, securing her wrists behind the back of the chair.

Melenis came in and leaned against the wall next to the door. "Are we really doing this?"

Garrus looked up, meeting her gaze from his position crouched behind Lawson's chair. "We need to know what she did."

"Look, I get it." Melenis crossed her arms over her chest. "Shepard means everything to you, and she's a mess." She shook her head. "But are we really going to—what?—torture this woman until she tells you everything? She offered to help. I don't understand why we need to do this."

His mandibles flared, and he dropped his gaze back to his hands, double checking to make sure Lawson's hands were secure. "We're not going to torture her. Spirits, Melenis."

"This isn't exactly your standard C-Sec interrogation setup, Archangel."

"Yeah, well, this isn't C-Sec … and there's a lot at stake here. Shepard needs—I need answers."

"And you're willing to kidnap a woman by force, tie her to a chair in the back of a seedy clinic, and pump her full of drugs against her will to get them?" Melenis pulled her brows up, challenging him when he glanced up at her. "And what if she doesn't give you the answers? Or just doesn't have them? What then?"

_What then?_

Garrus pushed himself up, his mandibles snapping tight against his jaw. "You don't understand who she is—what Cerberus is."

Melenis scoffed, shoving away from the wall. "Whatever. Be sure to tell the doctor she's a biotic." She left the office without another word.

* * *

Lawson's head lolled back on her shoulders, and she laughed up at the ceiling. "Truth serum? You can't be serious?"

A few minutes passed, and the woman began to tremble—at first Garrus thought it fear, but Dr. Solus assured him shivering was a common side effect of the drug. She laughed again, then her head jerked forward with a violent sneeze—another side effect. Groaning, she met Garrus' gaze, her eyelids drooping and fluttering.

"What does Cerberus want with Shepard?" Garrus leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the operative's vitals readout on his visor.

She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. "You took my files. You already know."

"Answer the question." Garrus bit off a growl.

She hook her head again, letting it hang. "The Illusive Man gave his orders. Bring the great Commander Shepard back just as she was before she died." Lifting her head, she rolled it back the other way, staring up at the ceiling. "He wants her to stop the collectors."

Garrus scoffed. "I've got news for you. That's not how she was before she died. What in _buratrum_ did you do to her?"

"Illusive Man?" Dr. Solus asked, shining a light in her eyes, measuring her pupillary response.

She turned her head to the side, pulling away from the light, licking her lips before glaring at the salarian. Scoffing, she pulled uselessly against her cuffs. "You can't possibly expect to keep me here indefinitely. What will you do with me? Kill me like one of your mercenaries?"

Garrus dropped his arms, pushing away from the wall and took a couple of steps closer to Lawson. "What. Did. You. Do. To. Her?"

"I gave her life." Lawson laughed, her head lolling back again, sending her into a fit of hiccups.

He growled, lunging forward only to find Dr. Solus' hand planted against his chest, pushing him back. The doctor tsked at Garrus, shaking his head. Garrus shrugged him off with a snarl and took a few steps back to pace the floor.

"Illusive Man?" Dr. Solus repeated in his unnervingly calm and clinical manner.

"I don't know who he really is." The words came from her slurred and broken with hiccups and sneezes.

Garrus stopped pacing, turning his attention back to Lawson in time to see her eyes flutter closed.

"I don't think anyone does, but he leads Cerberus." She opened her eyes, but instead of looking at Garrus she watched Dr. Solus.

"Ah." Dr. Solus crossed his arms. "What were exact orders?"

Garrus' omni-tool pinged with an incoming call, and Dr. Souls glanced over his shoulder with a frown. Garrus shrugged in apology, annoyed that he felt the need to apologize at all. He opened his omni-tool and accepted the call.

His mandibles flared when Melenis' face appeared on his screen. "Can this wait awhile? I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

Her lips pressed together, forming a thin, severe line across her face, and she shook her head. "Sidonis is gone."

Her words felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head, leaving stinging trails slithering down his spine. He tore his gaze from Melenis to look at the woman bound in the chair. Lawson blinked at him, her gaze losing focus as the corners of her mouth lifted.

"Take call outside." Dr. Solus nodded his head toward the door. "Will talk to Lawson."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles and bobbed his head, stepping outside of the office. Glancing up as the door slid closed behind him, he saw Shepard making a beeline for him, the soft smile on her face shifting to a frown when he met her gaze.

After a slight hitch in her steps, that old familiar look of unshakeable determination slid over her face, and she started moving again, taking long strides right up to him. "Butler said you found her. What's wrong?"

"I—" His thoughts were being pulled in too many directions, so it was just as well that the impatient sigh coming from his omni-tool drew his attention back to the call. He held up his arm, bringing Melenis into view once more.

Shepard glanced at the screen and started to take a step back, to give him privacy no doubt, but it was the last thing he wanted. He reached out for her, waving her a little closer until he could rest his hand on the small of her back, relaxing just a little to feel her next to him as he turned his arm to include her in the call.

Melenis turned away from the screen, glancing over her shoulder before turning her gaze back to Garrus. "We were at the docks. I left him waiting over by the taxi stand while I said goodbye to the girls. I swear, I had my back turned for all of a minute." Melenis' lips pressed into a tighter frown as she shook her head, her voice dropping when she continued, "When I looked back, they were dragging him into a skycar."

"Who? Who, Melenis?" Garrus felt his throat closing on him, and he swallowed thickly before panic had the chance to set in.

"The Blood Pack." She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, smearing violet blood, and Garrus saw for the first time she'd been injured. "I tried to get to him, but I was too late."

He shook his head, brushing the thought aside, glad that she wasn't taken, too. "Where are you?"

Her gaze left his as she scanned her surroundings again. "Still at the docks."

_She's a sitting duck there. They might come back for her. But_ tarc _she's hurt, and I don't want her left alone either …._

Fighting the urge to look to Shepard for guidance, he pulled his mandibles in and sighed. "Can you make it back here to the clinic?"

Melenis nodded. "I'm on my way." She cut the call, making Garrus' screen turn black.

He closed his omni-tool, turning to Shepard. "I have to go find him. I'm sorry, Shepard. Lawson's not going anywhere, though. The doctor is in there with her and she's secured."

"If you think you're going anywhere without me, Garrus Vakarian …" She lifted an eyebrow and shook her head. "... Archangel … think again."

Garrus chuffed, a slow grin spreading across his face.

_Spirits, I shouldn't be so happy about this. I should be worried about her, she's injured still and if Blood Pack has him … there's no way we're getting him back without a fight._

But he was, though, so pleased with the idea of being by her side in the thick of a battle again he couldn't keep the smile from his face if he'd wanted to. "You don't have your gear here."

She snorted, a smile tugging at her lips to match his. "I'm sure Mordin has a gun I can borrow."

"Hmmm. I'm sure Butler has something better." He glanced at the closed office door. "Give me a minute?"

"Sure." Shepard nodded.

Garrus opened the door, stepping back inside and making sure it closed behind him. Shepard didn't need to see Lawson tied to a chair and drugged out of her mind. Of course, he wouldn't tell her to stay out if she wanted to go in … but it was best she didn't. Lawson fell silent, her lolling head lifting to look Garrus in the eye.

He held her gaze, sinking every ounce of cold fury he could into his stare as he crossed the floor to stand in front of her. Leaning down, he braced his hands on the arms of her chair, getting close enough he could feel the shallow puffs of her breath on his face. "If I find out you had anything to do with this …"

"Threats meaningless to her." Dr. Solus settled a hand on Garrus' shoulder. "Assume going to find friend?"

Garrus shoved himself off of Lawson's chair. "Can you keep her here until I get back?"

"Go. Find friend." Dr. Solus tilting his head toward the door, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "Will find out what we need to know to help L'oeuf."

Garrus studied the doctor for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest before giving the salarian a firm nod. Dr. Solus nodded in return before turning his back on Garrus, focusing on the woman tied to the chair. Garrus left the office, smiling at Shepard. Something told him he couldn't leave Lawson in better hands. "Let's go see about getting you a gun."


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Unsaid and Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time since her escape, every step she took stretched the distance between the present and the ordeals of the past twenty months. The monster still roared in the back of her head, threatening, but with Garrus behind her, those threats rolled from a toothless mouth. Maybe not for good, but for the moment, she felt like Commander Jane Shepard.

**Chapter Seventeen: Unsaid and Said**

 

**MosaicCreme consulted for Garrus dialogue and actions.**

 

L’oeuf took a deep breath, her eyes drifting closed as she filled—no, nourished—her lungs with air.  It scorched all the way down, but in a way that felt clean and hopeful … like fireworks.  She’d thought she left hope on the other side of the airless void above Alchera, but damn, didn’t it feel good to race through the smelly service tunnels, rifles on her back, and—best of all Garrus’s heavy, familiar tread at her six.  

 

For the first time since her escape, every step she took stretched the distance between the present and the ordeals of the past twenty months.  The monster still roared in the back of her head, threatening, but with Garrus behind her, those threats rolled from a toothless mouth.  Maybe not for good, but for the moment, she felt like Commander Jane Shepard.

 

She stopped at the first main junction in Kenzo district: the Blood Pack’s playground.  She crouched before she opened her omnitool to the map she’d been building since her first day in hell.  Glancing up at Garrus when he crouched next to her, she took a breath to say how much it meant to have him at her side once more.  For a moment, the words fluttered just behind her teeth—tiny, bright wings of hope—but when those ice-blue eyes met hers, the simple declaration stuck on the back of her tongue.

 

Coughing softly, she cleared away the emotional lump and forced down the sentiment.  She needed to focus and stay professional … stay in control.  Garrus and his captured squad member needed L’oeuf at her best.

 

After taking another breath, she pointed to a warehouse half a kilometre from their position and said, “This is the Blood Pack’s main base.  Five stories of their legit and not-legit businesses.  It houses their varren kennels, hundreds of vorcha, and five or six dozen krogan.”  She looked up and shrugged when he cocked a brow plate, his unspoken question clear.  “I keep a close eye on the brutal bastards, closer than the other two gangs.”  Another shrug.  “They have no code.  Makes them capable of anything.”

 

She held Garrus’s stare.  “They probably won’t take him there—a kidnapped prisoner would sully their reputation with the few remaining fools who go to them for legit reasons—but it’s hooked into the main service tunnels.  We can get right inside to listen, see if we can find out where they’ve got him stashed.  Thoughts?”

 

“And you doubt that you’re still Jane Shepard?”  Garrus shook his head and let out a low rumbling sound, then pointed a talon at the spot where Sidonis disappeared.  “There are two bases within quick grab and stash distance from the docks.  Either one is closer than the main base.”  He shrugged and shook his head in a blended gesture that reflected the same indecision that thumped away in the back of her head, trying to set off her panic button.

 

“But if he isn’t at the first or second one, we waste a lot of time.”  Working her bottom lip between her teeth, she checked the chrono on her omnitool.  “They’ve had him for twenty-three minutes.  I can get us into their central command in another twenty.”  She met his gaze.  “He’s your soldier, this is up to you, but my recommendation is to go for the intel.  We’ll find out where he is and maybe overhear what sort of resistance we’ll meet once we get there.”

 

Garrus nodded, his mandibles flicking, but low … frustrated.  “Melenis interfered, so they’ll know she reported back, and I’m coming.  They won’t take him to any of their usual hideouts.”  Another nod seemed to seal his decision.  “Let’s go for the intel.”

 

Shepard pressed her lips tight around a wooden smile and reached out to brush her fingertips along his mandible.  Before it got close enough to draw his attention, she redirected it to her omnitool.  “Then hang onto your assless; we’re in for a bumpy ride.”  When he nodded, she took off at a smart, but sustainable jog.  Following the map of Omega etched into her memory, she led him through the maze of service tunnels, taking to smaller ducts only to skirt maintenance workers or Aria’s thugs.  They made excellent time, the thunder of Garrus’s heavy, armour-laden steps drowned out by Omega’s industrial racket.

 

She stopped at the junction that led into the warehouse block, crouching next to a vent that allowed her a good view of the street.  Casting a cocky grin at Garrus, she shook her head.  “Apparently, in addition to not knowing how to duck, turians don’t know how to be stealthy.”

 

His grumpy mutter just widened her smile.  She thrust her chin toward his armour.  “From here on, we lose the ambient noise dampening.  We’re going to have to be silent, so you’ll either have to lose the armour or I’ll go in alone.”

 

Mandibles and jaw locking down, stubborn, she saw him preparing for an argument a good few seconds before he shook his head.  “I’m not letting you go in alone.  Get that idea out of your head.”  After a moment, and piercing her through with a sharp glare, he started stripping the layers of plating off his arms, leaving only his under armour in place.  

 

She helped him with his yoke, lifting the back section clear of his head before easing the hefty chunk of metal and ceramic from his hands.  Her eyes remained fixed on him in a stare so heated that he must have felt its burn; his mandibles twitched and the hide at his neck flushed, the warm taupe-grey changing to something closer to silver-blue.

 

“I can do this myself,” he said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

 

In answer, she crouched to snap the seals on his greaves, the integrated boots coming apart front and back.  She added them to the pile before taking his thigh armour from his talons.  Quick as she could say ‘how much wood could a woodchuck chuck’ he stood there in his under armour.

 

_Dayum._

 

“Much better,” she mumbled, and their eyes met, holding for another few seconds before she gulped, spun, and hurried off down the tunnel.  After a couple of panicked, shuddering breaths, she blurted out, “I mean for the service tunnels.”

 

 _Forget that I used to lie awake dreaming about taking all that armour off to see what hid beneath._  She grinned, but then swallowed hard and ducked her head, hiding the blush that crept up her neck, her armour far too tight around her neck.

 

Garrus rumbled, the sound of it just sharp enough to draw a quick glance over her shoulder.  He held his mandible high and wide, his expression somewhere between shock and an idiotic smile.

 

_Shit, did I say that out loud?_

 

The monster stretched along her spine, digging in its claws as embarrassment scalded the length of her spine, spurring her along the tunnel faster, as if she could outrun it.  The flaming beast roared, but before it could scramble her thoughts and emotions, stirring them into a hurricane, she slowed and reached behind her, fingers trembling.  Garrus’s warm, strong talons wrapped around her hand, just for a moment, but long enough to calm the storm before it began.

 

Shepard slowed, concentrating on the map inside her mind instead of the twin, ice-blue lasers burning into her back.  The ground floor, where she and Garrus entered, consisted of a large garage and the elevator lobby.  She doubted that they’d overhear anything worth their time until they got past the Blood Pack’s public face: the first two floors.  Still, she paused at a large vent overlooking the garage when she heard the gruff, guttural bellows of a heated krogan debate.  Three krogan stood facing each other, shouting about ….  She closed her eyes and tilted her ear closer to the grate, trying to hear anything other than volume.  

 

“The big one is Garm,” Garrus whispered, his mandible pressed against her ear.  A low growl rumbled from his throat, so furious that it yanked the hair on the back of her neck straight up.  

 

She nodded and turned her head a little to whisper, “Yeah, I know.  Brutal bastard to the fuck-me-nth degree.”  She tried to focus on the shouting amidst the ambient noise of engines and someone banging metal against metal.  

 

“... brainless ... never told you to think ....”  Garm stopped yelling, his fist taking over the conversation.  “Why didn’t you call and ask?”

 

One of the lackeys backed up a step, then another.  “B … but, boss, you were still hiding from that a … asari.”  

 

The other krogan grabbed hold of the first, trying to pull him away from Garm.  “No, wait, boss, what Turz meant was—”

 

Garm roared, towering over his men, his fists raised over his head.  Like a twin pair of pile drivers, those fists crashed down over and over until both peons puddled, bloody masses oozing across the cement.  The Blood Pack leader roared, throwing his head back and his arms out to the side, molten fury given form as viscera flew from his arms to splatter everything in a five metre radius.

 

The monster purred, lapping up the bloody display of violence, rubbing against her tattered, raw nerves: an overly friendly cat demanding treats.

 

Garm calmed just enough to activate his comms and holler, “Shuttle!  Now!”  After another second, he grumbled, then said, “I thought that psychotic, blue bitch left the station.”

 

L’oeuf glanced over at Garrus and mouthed, “Blue bitch?”

 

Garrus shook his head, but then opened his omnitool.  After a few seconds, he looked up at her.  “Melenis and Weaver heard rumours about an asari: Aria was keeping an eye on her until she shipped out to Illium.”

 

“Huh.”  Filing the information away, she watched to see which way Garm would jump.  A terrified, enraged krogan could well be the most dangerous being in the galaxy.

 

In less than a minute, the roar of shuttle engines replaced Garm’s continuing diatribe about terrifying asari and quadless idiots daring to think on their own.

 

“Scan the garage,” Shepard whispered, pressing her mouth to Garrus’s aural canal.  “How many Blood Pack and where?”  Even as she finished the order, she dove into her belt pouches, rummaging through until she found a tracker.

 

“Fifteen in the garage.  They’re running from Garm,” Garrus replied, shifting around until he looked down at her hands.  “Prepping a tracker?”

 

She nodded even as she loaded the tracker on a concussive round, her lack of fingertips complicating the fine work.  “The mood Garm is in, he’s handling the dirty work himself today.”  She looked up to see Garrus watching her, his mandibles spread and twitching just enough to betray his controlled impatience.  “He should lead us right to Sidonis.”  She glanced at him again, then nodded and handed everything to him.  Garm would get away before she convinced her fingers to cooperate.  A moment later, Garm’s shuttle swooped down to pick him up.  As it flew toward the garage doors, Garrus fired, hitting the rear thruster on the starboard side.  

 

Perfect!

 

“Good shooting.”  She took her rifle from his hands and holstered it.  Now, they just needed to follow Garm, and hopefully the krogan led them to Sidonis.

 

“He’s going to be halfway across the galaxy before we get out of here and grab a car.”  Garrus turned to go back.

 

She snagged his upper arm.  “Just go put your armour on.  I’ll have a ride when you get back.”

 

He shook his head and started to turn back.  “I’ll go without armour.  You can’t go into there alone.”

 

An almost forgotten mixture of affection and annoyance spilled through her, warming her to the battered tips of her fingers and buzzing at the base of her skull.  She spurred him on with a gentle shove.

 

“I’ve survived here alone for four months, Garrus.  I’ve been through every room in this base at one time or another and never been caught.”  She activated her omnitool and manufactured a wide-tipped screwdriver to pop the vent cover loose.  

 

Garrus’s turn to grab her wrist.  “Security?”

 

“I have countermeasures installed.”  She smiled, strained and tight.  Four months of doing everything on her own prickled just beneath her skin, nettles growing out of not answering to anyone and having proven to be an exceptional infiltrator … not just for an engineer, either.  “Go.”  She swallowed her annoyance, the pain around her easing even as she felt the wound that curved around her mouth on the right begin to weep.

 

“You don’t have to do it alone, Shepard.”  When he didn’t move, and she saw the careful tenderness and worry in his stare, she pushed again, stronger that time.  

 

“Time waiting is time wasted.  It’s okay.  Go.”  A sigh hissed through her clenched jaws.  “I’ve done this for months, Garrus, and never been caught.  Go ahead.  I’ll be right below the vent when you get back.”

 

She turned away, expecting to be obeyed, despite knowing that she held no position or right to issue orders.  Well, except his respect for her, and that currency felt too precious to spend.  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of the dusty, stale-smelling air, taking comfort in the oily way it clung to the inside of her nostrils.  It helped her center, her nervous system settling into the slow, methodical concentration she needed for her work.  She’d run that far, high and excited at having Garrus by her side again—feeling whole for the first time since those hours before Alchera—but outside the public tunnels, she needed to focus or she’d end up making a fatal mistake.

 

Opening her eyes, she looked down, checking to make sure the tiny mirrors she’d installed remained in front of the laser emitters.  She’d installed them on her first venture into the base, and they’d apparently remained undetected.  A quick scan revealed a cluster of remaining Blood Pack cringing at the opposite end of the garage from Garm’s tantrum.

 

Perfect.

 

Then it wasn’t.  The monster whispered a warning, a pulse of fire searing along her nerves to settle at the base of her spine.  No.  She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.  No.  Just no, her insanity couldn’t cost Garrus’s team member his life.  Another breath, and the monster laughed, stepping back to pace, claws scratching notches in her bones as it readied to spring back.

 

She slid the tool into one bottom corner and popped the metal grate free.  After checking her scan one more time, she pushed it open and slipped down, landing in a light crouch.  The greasy sand ground between the cement and the leather soles of her boots as she pivoted toward the line of non-descript black cars.  A line of shuttles stood closer, but on Omega, a shuttle would stick out like a sore thumb.

 

“All right, you smashed egg,” she whispered, jaw clenching as she creeped forward, “let’s get this done without freaking out and getting Garrus or his people killed.”  She inched along a part wall, skirting the bloodied corpses, some old action movie theme music playing in the back of her head.  Damned earworm.

 

The monster roared loud enough that she jumped, her toe catching on the cement.  For a half-second she flailed, desperate to avoid falling and validating Garrus’s concerns.  Twisting with every ounce of her strength, she sent the muscles along her spine into spasm but caught her balance.  When she focused back on her surroundings, her fingers hovered less than a centimetre away from setting off the alarm on the nearest shuttle.  

 

_Excellent infiltration technique, you stupid egg.  Garrus was right.  You should have waited for someone competent.  Stupid, stupid, broken fucking egg._

 

The heel of her hand slapped her forehead four times before she forced it down to grip her thigh.  Gouging her fingers into the deep tracts carved through her flesh, she breathed into the pain, numbing herself enough to tackle the crazy, throw it to the ground, and crush it.  

 

“Get moving before Garrus comes back and finds you sitting here being insane, dammit.”  Iron burned deep in her sinuses.  She sniffed quietly, the icy fire pushing out tears.  “Don’t make him regret coming to you … trusting you.”

 

Right.  Taking a deep breath, she centered herself the best she could, then checked her scan and eyelines.  She forced her fingertips out of her thigh meat, and scooted toward the closest vehicle.  As long as the Blood Pack didn’t gird their quads and head down the garage to clean up their cohorts’ remains, she’d have cover.  With some luck and good timing, she and Garrus should get out the door before anyone even realized someone had stolen a car.

 

Crouched next to her target, long slow breaths keeping her calm and focused, she opened her omnitool and ran her custom bypass program.  In less than fifteen seconds, the door popped open.  

 

_Well, maybe you’re not completely useless._

 

Crawling up onto the driver’s seat, she kept her head down while she overrode the starter lock.  The second the engine roared to life, she bolted up, twisting to sit facing forward.  Hands moving with the speed of muscle memory, she adjusted the eezo core and lifted smoothly out of the space.

 

None too soon, but right on time, Garrus dropped out of the grate and bolted for the car, leaping in the open door before L’oeuf had a chance to bring it to a halt.

 

“I’m tracking Garm’s shuttle,” Garrus said, making a show of fastening his seatbelt and tightening it.  

 

She shot a wry glance and a raised eyebrow at him as she sent the car soaring out the door and up into a clear traffic lane.  “You survived the trip into the mine, didn’t you?”

 

He just shrugged, his mandibles flicking.  “He’s heading deeper into Kenzo.  Most of the district’s levels are deserted.”  After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced her way.  “Do you want me to drive?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, allowing just enough of a smirk to acknowledge his attempt at humour.  “Just link the tracker to the car’s nav system, wise guy.”  She glanced at the screens, searching for pursuit.  None, but that meant Garm and a massive squad of pissed off krogan and hungry vorcha waiting for them at the other end.  Instead of prodding the monster, that thought settled her gut.  She didn’t fear battle, not with Garrus at her side … not after all the geth they’d carved their way through.  The monster loved the fight … the bigger, the better.

 

Just like old times.

 

Well, almost.

 

* * *

 

Enraged bellows led her through the ducts of the abandoned warehouse along a path as accurate as any map on her omnitool.  “Where is he?” Garm shouted, apparently not wasting any time tearing into his people for whatever mistake they’d made.  “Do you quadless morons realize what you’ve done?  I told you to watch him, not snatch him.”

 

Him?  Garrus’s squad member?  Had Garm meant to follow Sidonis back to Garrus’s base?

 

“Ransom, boss.  We thought he’s got to be worth a couple million creds.”

 

What?  She scowled and leaned closer to the vent as the conversation screeched around that unexpected corner.  Ransom?

 

“Who told you to think?”  A heavy punch landed, the sound of a boulder crashing into a mattress.  “He’s worth Spectres, morons.  Spectres shooting their way through Blood Pack business.  You might as well have snatched a councillor.”  

 

Spectres?  Garm couldn’t be talking about taking Sidonis captive.  An anonymous turian vigilante wouldn’t even register on the council’s LADAR.  It had to be someone else … someone important.  Dammit.  Nothing ever went according to plan.  Just once, it would be nice to have everything go better than planned.

 

_Stop dithering and move!  Sidonis still needs rescuing._

 

She jumped into motion, following the air duct, staying low and silent.  Glancing behind her when she reached the corner, she blinked, forgetting for a moment that Garrus waited back at the intersection of the main tunnel.  Even without armour, he wouldn’t fit into the ducts.  Not that he hadn’t tried.  Ah well, she’d message him as soon as she figured out Garm’s deal.  

 

Hurrying forward in a half-crouch, her feet just skimming the metal duct floor, she managed to keep up with Garm.  Not that he offered any more information, being too busy slamming his men in the back of the head and ribs.  To be that pissed and suspect the council would send Spectres, his idiots must have grabbed someone major.

 

L’oeuf creeped up to a grate that opened onto the corridor five metres from where Garm stood.  She’d never ventured that deep into Kenzo District and hated not knowing where anything led or opened up.  If they discovered her, if she gave herself away, they could end up having to fight their way out against way too many Blood Pack.

 

What was Blood Pack doing up there?  Until Garm led them to that base, she hadn’t suspected any of the gangs ran so close to the mines.  That hideout stood a stone’s throw away from Aria’s mining interests, a situation the pirate queen wouldn’t like in the least.

 

She peered through the grate into a dark corridor, the floor splotched with weak yellow light.  To the far left she saw a cluster of krogan and vorcha standing outside a wide window.  She peered, trying to see who or what was behind the glass, but the angle turned the clear pane into a sea of reflections.  Dammit.  Moving silently, she slipped down the duct, searching for a closer grate, but didn’t find another opening until the other end of that corridor.

 

“Get rid of him,” Garm ordered, his voice the deep, terrifying growl of a predator possessing a heart composed of pure rage.  “Dump him at the docks.  No evidence.  Make sure it’s a clean kill.”  Garm spun away from the door.  “And if you morons screw this up, I’ll feed you to the varren.”  He slapped one of the two krogan standing behind him.  “Psychotic asari, Spectres, my own gang is trying to kill me.”  He let out a ferocious, guttural grunt.  “Take me to the other one.”

 

“We haven’t been able to get anything out of him, boss,” the slapped krogan said.  “And one of Archangel’s other people came after us.”

 

“You were seen?”  Another punch echoed down the duct, that one resonating with the splinter of bone … no … bones, plural.  She winced as the pummeling continued.  Shit.  She needed to save the important guy, but in Garm’s current mood, Sidonis wouldn’t last very long either.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

 

The heel of her hand thumped her brow.  Think.  She needed to think.  Thump.  Thump.  She couldn’t lose Garm … the building was far too big to find him again quickly.  Garrus needed to get to her and Garm through the corridors.  And then they needed to fight Garm at the end of that road.  One hand slapped against the pocket at her waist.  She still had a couple of trackers.  

 

Rough fingers scrabbled through the pouch, finding one.  Now how to get it onto Garm without betraying her position and getting all four of them killed?  She glanced at Garm’s back, the mammoth krogan had traded pummelling another peon to death for grumbling into his comms and pacing the width of the corridor.

 

“What do you mean you can’t confirm that she got on the transport?” the Blood Pack leader demanded, his pacing building to a fury.  “Find out.  Now!”

 

The beginning of a plan came to L’oeuf in a flash of what probably amounted to pure madness.  Before good sense could talk her out of it, she dove into her belt pouch, pulling out some tack adhesive.  One never knew when they might have to stick a vent open or tack up a mirror … or stick a tracker to a homicidal behemoth.

 

The tracker prepared, she dove back into her belt pouch, withdrawing the suppressor for her pistol.  She stuck the tracker to the end with just enough pressure to hold it there as she slid the suppressor through the grate.

 

_Thank you, Instructor Torelly and your insanely boring lectures on the history of firearms.  Hopefully I can still bullseye anything with a spitball._

 

Garm still paced, speaking rather than shouting, but the growl of simmering rage never left his voice.  Apparently the predicted troubles caused by the asari or the Blood Pack’s important guest had already begun to manifest.  She scooted as far to the right as she could, just able to see Garm and his last couple of thugs.  

 

Good, she needed to launch her missile as he passed for the best chance to get a good adhesion.  Garrus wouldn’t like her plan even if everything went perfectly.  If she lost Garm and Sidonis took damage because of it ….  No, she wouldn’t let him down.  She could do this.

 

Her hand lifted, but she managed to grit her teeth and force it back down before it made contact with her head.  A freak out would mean losing her chance.  Control.  She needed control.

 

The Blood Pack leader cut off his comms with a krogan curse that made her inner ears curdle.  “Take care of it.”  He spun and strode toward her position.  

 

Just as he passed, she took a huge breath, then blew into the suppressor.  Her ears popped, sending electric jolts down into her jaw on both sides, but the tracker flew true, burying itself in the gap between his pauldron and the plating over his hump.

 

She checked the tracker; broadcasting loud and clear.  Excellent.  She sent that frequency to Garrus along with a message to start making his way toward her position.  By the time he reached her, she’d be ready to follow Garm and rescue Sidonis.  Garrus replied a second later: on his way.

 

She threaded her suppressor onto her side arm.  Time for her to put it to its actual purpose.  

 

Watching out the grate, she waited a minute for any of the krogan to come back to assist the vorcha in ridding the Blood Pack of their troublesome guest.  When none returned, she focused on the three bickering vorcha—none of them wanted to take lead and potentially end up as a puddle of blood.  

 

Ideally, she’d use incendiary rounds against vorcha to beat down their regen, but … she glanced at the fire suppression system along the ceiling … burning bodies would bring the entire base down on their heads.  Instead, she switched to armour-piercing ammunition.

 

_Headshots, it is.  Man up and get the job done._

 

Coincidentally, the three vorcha stopped arguing at the exact same moment her first shot splattered the center one’s brains against the wall.  Go figure.  The other two scrambled for a second before opening the door, no doubt intending to take cover inside.  The second one fell across the threshold, what remained of his head twisted and shattered.  She let out a faint sigh of relief, the monster celebrating the bloody mist hanging in the air.

 

The third one dove behind the wall.  Damn.  She’d never wriggle out the grate before he turned her into a gruesome slab of swiss cheese.  

 

“Think,” she whispered to herself.  The room needed ducts for air exchange.  A small tertiary duct would prove a tight fit, but in the leathers, maybe she could squeeze through.  She lifted into a crouch, prepared to put a half dozen shots into the wall to keep the vorcha pinned down while she moved.

 

Across the corridor, metal crashed against metal, the racket followed by grunting, and a rabid-sounding growling: high-pitched and enraged.  Before she recovered enough to open the grate and turn around to jump out, the vorcha tumbled over the bodies of his fellows.

 

L’oeuf dropped to the floor, landing in a crouch, heart pounding, her sidearm raised.  “Hello?”  She sidled to the left, hoping to get an eyeline on whoever took out the last vorcha.  

 

“Who’s there?” a voice called out: salarian and cool as the most trite of cucumbers.  After a cascade of banging, grunting, and thumping, a gun barrel stabbed around the door frame.  “Blood Pack?  More assassins?”

 

Dropping her gun to low ready, L’oeuf sidestepped around the remains of Garm’s men until she could see the salarian.  Wincing, she eyed the massive bruising that covered almost all of his exposed skin: a dark, sickly green even against the chocolate brown.  Raw, oozing gashes tore through his clothing and into the muscle, and maybe even bone below if the one across his cheek was any indicator.

 

Once she looked past the ridiculous bulk of the executioner pistol aimed at her gut, she noticed the chains wrapped around a good sixty-percent of his body … and then the large heating unit attached to the other end.  

 

Unsuccessfully trying to stifle a laugh, she cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Did you pull that thing right out of the wall?”

 

He straightened, looking as indignant as anyone could wrapped in chains and covered with vorcha guts.  “I’ve had three days to stress the bolts.”  Jabbing the muzzle of the pistol at the dead vorcha, he shrugged and continued, “One can discover remarkable strength when faced with becoming a vorcha entree.”

 

Still chuckling, she holstered her sidearm and checked her scans to be sure the coast remained clear, then picked her way across the slick tiles.  “Let’s see if we can’t get you out of these chains.”  

 

In the end, she pried apart the lock and unwound the complicated web of chains.  Just as the length fell away, she heard Garrus’s heavy, careful tread in the corridor.  She looked up at the salarian.  “I’m L’oeuf, by the way, and the big guy coming down the hall is Archangel.”

 

The salarian answered her cocked head and questioning eyebrow with a nod.  “Ah’meel Sensat.”  He swallowed, a hard, dry gulp.  “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

 

“Ah, Shepard?”

 

She looked up, Garrus’s shadow falling over her as she tucked into her belt pouch for a bottle of water, which she passed to the salarian.

 

“What?”  She bit down on her lip to kill the grin trying to muscle its way onto her lips.

 

“This is a salarian.  Sidonis is a turian.”  He held out his arms.  “See the difference?”

 

She grinned and nodded.  “Oh, right … turians are the cocky, reckless ones.”  She nodded to Sensat and the massive pistol in his hand.  “Might as well hang onto that gun, my friend.  We’ve got one more rescue on the docket.”  She turned, but then hesitated and looked over her shoulder.  “If you’re up to a fight, that is.”

 

Sensat grinned, not a single sign of humour in the furious gash across his face.  “I have the strength to properly thank Garm for his hospitality.  Lead on.”

 

L’oeuf nodded, admiration for the salarian’s spirit buoying her mood.  “Then let’s get to it.”  She brushed passed Garrus, her attention on the blip of Garm’s tracker.  “I’ll add that turian identification note to my Field Guide to Omegan Wildlife.”

 

His mutter eased the smile, allowing her to concentrate.  For a base hosting important prisoners, the base seemed ridiculously understaffed.  She’d expected krogan, vorcha, and varren out the wazoo, but four krogan and five vorcha were all that blocked the path to Garm.  

 

“The corridors are clear behind me,” Garrus said, falling in at her four.  

 

“I should go back into the ducts, get ahead, give you covering fire when you come through the doors.”  She stopped and spun back toward her open grate.  Only her hands pressed to Garrus’s chest stopping him from running into her.  For a moment, she froze in that position, her hands suddenly tingling and scorching hot.  Staring up into the warm midnight of his helmet’s visor, she wished she could just pop up onto her tiptoes and press a kiss against his mouth.

 

That thought shattered the moment, and she stepped back, looking away to hide her blush.  Truly, she’d come back without half the sense she’d possessed when she died.  Thinking about kissing in the middle of a fucking Blood Pack base while trying to rescue someone who had only minutes to live.  She stepped around Garrus and cleared her throat.  “Give me a boost, please?”

 

Garrus rumbled a little, but bent over beneath the vent.  She knew he wouldn’t instigate a discussion of her behaviour until they made it back to Mordin’s clinic; at least someone managed to maintain professionalism.  She lifted her foot to step into his locked fingers, jumping nimbly up as he lifted her.  Letting out a few soft grunts, she wriggled back into the small space.

 

“Okay, I’ll go ahead.  Wait until you hear shots fired before coming through each set of doors,” she ordered.  “Then come in guns ablazin’.  Yeeehaw!”  She gave Garrus a wide-eyed stare of pure attitude, guessing what he was thinking.  “Yes, yeehaw.”

 

For a moment, she hesitated, the words throwing themselves against the backs of her teeth, begging her to tell him how much she needed him.  No … so not the time.  She swallowed them down again.

 

Time to find Garm and get the hell out of Dodge.

 

* * *

 

At last, only one door stood between them and Sidonis, and judging by the sounds coming through the metal portal, they didn’t have much time to get in there.  According to the scans, Garm worked over Sidonis while a small squad of vorcha stood pressed against the furthest wall, too scared to get any closer.  Apparently all of the Blood Pack’s krogan lackeys possessed sufficient smarts to flee to the opposite end of Omega.

 

“Do you have a plan?” Garrus asked, looking up at her.

 

She nodded.  During the fight across the base, her insane plan had branched and fleshed out … at least a little.  “Sure.  It’s a good plan.  I’m excited about it.”  She stared straight into Garrus’s black faceplate.  “How convincing is your vorcha impersonation?”  

 

When Garrus just sputtered a little and tried to reach up to rub the back of his neck through his armour, she leaned out the vent, reaching a hand down to the salarian.  

 

“Can you climb up?” she asked, pulling her hand back a little.  “You can provide covering fire from a fairly safe position up here, but if you can’t … head down and find a good hiding place.”

 

Sensat, looking worse for wear after having held up his end of every fight, gripped her hand and jumped.  With only a little wriggling and a few minor salarian curse words, he climbed into the shaft.

 

“Head down far enough that you’re at the furthest opening into the room,” she told him.  “I’ll be right behind you as soon as my vorcha friend and I throw a few spanners into the works.”  Without waiting for Sensat to reply, she looked to Garrus.  “Ready?”

 

He chuffed, a low rumble threaded through it.  “If you ever tell anyone ….”

 

A wide grin belying her ardent nod, she drew a cross over her heart.

 

“Swear it,” he insisted, his posture just rigid enough to broadcast his embarrassment.  Lifting his rifle, he sidestepped over against the far wall, a sensible precaution if Garm’s peons came out firing.

 

“My word is my bond,” she whispered.  Before he could argue that she hadn’t actually sworn anything, she dropped her upper body through the vent, cleared her throat, and hollered.  “I don’t care if he’s in a bloody council meeting, you drooling pissant.  Garm took my money, promised me a boat off this damned rock.”  She nodded to Garrus, hoping he could do a passable vorcha.

 

Garrus hesitated for the barest of seconds, his entire demeanour one of extreme discomfiture.  Then, his posture changed, snapping down, hunched, his hands raised a little.  “You no go in there.  Boss see you when ready.  You go in, we kill you!”

 

Convincing vorcha?  Hell, if she hadn’t been looking at him, she would have thought he was a vorcha.  She shook off the surprise to reply.  “Kill me?  The entire Blood pack fighting together couldn’t kill me.”  

 

Sensat called down the shaft, but she couldn’t make out what he said, so continued with her performance.

 

“I’m going in there even if I have to punch straight through your scabby, revolt—”

 

The door burst open, the portal overflowing with enraged krogan.  Garm ignored Garrus completely, homing in on her like a gigantic missile.  Shit, his terror had sent him straight into blood rage.  She heaved herself up, scrambling to pull her top half back into the duct, but before she could haul herself all the way into the vent, a massive hand clamped down around her forearm and yanked.

 

Pain exploded like a thousand flashbang grenades detonating along her entire nervous system.  The white-hot agony of being flayed alive via duct edge flared, blinding her.  The monster roared through her body, an inferno leaving nothing but ash in its wake, then vanished with the smoke.

 

A harsh scream ripped from deep in her gut as Garm cracked her like a whip, the brutality of the action tearing her arm from its socket.  Still blinded, she tumbled through the air,  a porcelain doll shattering a little more as she crashed through everything in her path.  Finally slamming into something solid, she crumpled, feeling as though she’d collapse into a stain as bones splintered against the unforgiving surface.

 

“Shepard!”  Her name registered above the chatter of rifle fire and Garm’s bellows.

 

She opened her mouth to answer, but when she tried to take a breath, nothing happened.  Paralyzed, trapped in a vacuum, her lungs refused to do the simple task for which they’d been created.  She gulped, unable to swallow either, her lips just tugging at the air like a fish left to dry out on the sand.

 

“Spirits, Shepard, are you all right?”  He grunted, the sound of armour hitting the floor, dragging her up off the tiles.

 

Gritting her teeth against the rice krispies that had replaced her ribcage, she forced herself into a half-slumped position, her hand reaching for her sidearm.  She blinked a handful of times before her vision cleared enough to differentiate between Garrus and the Blood Pack leader.  Garrus was on his feet.  She let out a rattling sigh.  She must have heard him rolling away from Garm’s charge.

 

With an agility that surprised her, Garrus bated Garm, keeping the enraged krogan’s attention on him.  The ridiculous image of a matador fluttered through her head.  Ole!  Cackling like a breathless idiot, she opened fire, trying to beat the krogan down before the vorcha inside the room joined the fight.

 

“Shepard?  Talk to me!” Garrus called, breaking through the hysteria.  

 

She gasped twice, struggling to get enough air, sitting up forcing all of her broken shards to grind together.  “Alive.”

 

Saving her breath for filling Garm with bullets, she fired into the behemoth.  The krogan soaked up two heat sinks worth of rounds, then most of a third.  Fuck-a-doodle-doo, why wouldn’t the bastard just go down?  A couple of times, the Blood Pack leader tried to charge her, to crush her into blood pudding, but each time, Garrus appeared between them, distracting the brute and leading him away.

 

At last, letting out a final roar despite most of his head hanging down by his elbow, Garm went down.  Not trusting him to stay dead, she emptied the rest of the sink into the hamburger meat on his shoulders.  

 

Garrus dropped to one knee next to Garm’s corpse, the turian’s entire body heaving for air.  She stifled an envious grumble about him wantonly showing off his ability to breathe, deciding her energy was better spent sliding back onto the floor.

 

_One egg, sunny side up.  Check._

 

She heard Garrus push himself up onto his feet and cross the floor to kneel next to her, but it seemed far too hard to open her eyes.  Firm but gentle hands cradled her arm, the cool wash of medigel flooding through her … and then again.  

 

“Come on, Shepard, open your eyes … give me a sign here.”  His palm pressed against her cheek.  “You can’t leave me again.  Spirits, I just found you.”

 

Despite even the slightest movement taking an effort worthy of a Herculean labour, she managed to open her eyes.  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice scarcely loud enough to be heard over the drone of Omega’s life support systems.  “... five vorcha … check Sensat … Sidonis.”

 

Giving her a glare and grumbling under his breath, Garrus turned away and started to rise.  Before she even realized what her hand intended to do, it reached up to grip his wrist, tugging gently to pull him back down.

 

“Shepard?”

 

She gripped him tighter.  “I don’t want to go back to the mine.”  Finally, the words she’d been swallowing  managed to tumble free.  A weight falling away as they did.  No matter how he answered her, at least she’d stopped holding back out of fear.  “I don’t want to be any further than this from you.  Okay?”

 

(A-N: So so sorry for taking so long to get this chapter written.  Hopefully, it has been worth the wait.  :D  Hugs and love and kittens to all of you!)

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Hope and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus flared his mandibles, leaning down to gently rest his forehead against hers. "I don't want you to go back to the mines, either." He chuffed, a soft chuckle brought on by the sudden, surprising confession. "I planned on asking you to come stay with me, but I didn't think you'd be willing. I had a whole speech planned and everything."

Written by MosaicCreme with consultations for Shepard by MizDirected

Words taken from MizDirected's Turian Dictionary:

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Perir** \- Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

**Puer** \- Pueri plural. Child.

**Buratrum** _-_ The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association. Equivalent of hell.

**Tarc** \- Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

**Kresat frasacti(s)** \- Literal: herd spooker(s). Vernacular: crazy bastards

**Spurin** \- (plural: spurin) Equivalent of bastard, but in the sense of an unpleasant and despicable person rather than the sense of being of illegitimate birth.

**Necon** \- No, don't.

**Moruvesin** \- Winged insect analogues native to Palaven that grow to approximately 2 cms in length. Covered in articulated armour, they are very difficult to kill and have a sting that might not kill you, but it will make you wish it had.

**Chapter Eighteen: Hope and Answers**

_And here I thought I'd have to beg._

Garrus flared his mandibles, leaning down to gently rest his forehead against hers. "I don't want you to go back to the mines, either." He chuffed, a soft chuckle brought on by the sudden, surprising confession. "I planned on asking you to come stay with me, but I didn't think you'd be willing. I had a whole speech planned and everything." He purred, shaking his head against hers. "Nothing would make me happier." He ran a knuckle over her cheek and straightened, fluttering his mandibles. "But, hmmm, if you want me to go in there after Sidonis … I'm going to have to be a _little_ further away from you than this."

She flashed him a lopsided grin, lasting only a moment before shifting into a grimace screaming of suppressed torment. Sucking in a deep breath, she squeezed his fingers again. "Well, okay … kick their asses, but then come right back."

Even though he knew it'd be overkill, he couldn't stand seeing the pained look on her face, so he activated the Medi-gel again. "You got it." He stood, holding her fingers as long as his arm reached as he stepped back. Finally letting go of her, he shrugged his assault rifle into his hands, and with one last worried flick of his mandibles he left her side.

Pressing his back to the doorframe, he slapped his palm against the green glow. The sounds of shuffling feet and raspy whimpers reached his aurals even as the acidic stench of urine, vomit, and blood assaulted his nose. Garrus glanced inside, catching sight of a knotted mess of vorcha, huddled together in the corner of the room. "Too easy." Bringing his assault rifle up, he leveled the gun on the quivering vorcha—almost feeling bad for them—and open fired, leaving behind a heap of vorcha bleeding out on the floor.

He pushed away from the door, turning into the room, keeping his gun at the ready. Blue covered the floor and walls in thick, stringy splashes, the scent of turian blood hit his nostrils potent enough to stand out above the rest of the muck, making Garrus' stomach reel. Sidonis lay on the floor in the far corner, struggling to pull himself up, a dislocated mandible hanging askew. The battered _torin_ coughed, spitting more blood on the floor before turning his head to look at Garrus.

Finding no one else still alive in the room, Garrus holstered his weapon and rushed to Sidonis. "Spirits." He winced, assessing the damage done to his friend; the broken tip on the other _torin's_ fringe enough to pull a distressed keen from his throat. "Don't … don't move."

Sidonis' working mandible flared and he tried to say something, but it came out a garbled, incomprehensible mess, only making him cough more. Garrus' mandibles snapped tight against his face and he shook his head, silencing his friend. Cradling Sidonis' head with one hand, he gripped the dislocated mandible with the other, steeling himself before jerking it forward and out, then shoving it back into place. A growl ripped through Sidonis' throat, sending him into another coughing fit, but the newly relocated mandible flared as it should.

Seeing his teammate in such agony, for a moment he regretted giving Shepard the third dose of Medi-gel—but only a moment. He used the last of his on Sidonis, and then glanced around the room, looking for more. Breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the first aid kit on the wall by the door, he left Sidonis' side just long enough to raid the white box, bringing the contents back with him. Garrus strained to catch any sign of movement coming from the other room, knowing Shepard remained out there, injured and alone. Setting to work, he applied Medi-gel to open wounds, using tension bandages to support the injuries he couldn't just slather over.

"You need …" Sidonis lifted a hand, clinging to Garrus' arm. His head lolled on his shoulders, rocking back and forth in refusal when Garrus tried to shush him. "You need to get out of here. Garm's … Spirits, you need to get everyone out of the base. He knows … I'm sorry … I tried …."

Swallowing, fighting back the urge to gag from the tendrils of odors wisping their way into his nostrils even over the sharp bite of antiseptic, Garrus flicked his mandibles. "Garm's dead." He put on the last bandage, knowing it wasn't enough but figuring it'd have to make do. "Just … let's just focus on getting you out of here for now." He slid his arm around Sidonis' waist. "I need you on your feet, do you think you can walk?"

"I—not far." Sidonis shook his head a little. "Garrus, just leave me, go get the others to safety."

"Not happening, Sidonis. Come on." Garrus pushed himself to his feet, dragging the other _torin_ along with him.

Ignoring the fact Sidonis uncharacteristically used his real name and the reek of fear pouring off the other _torin_ , Garrus eased his friend toward the door. They moved slow, each step punctuated by a soft, pained growl coming from Sidonis. A tightness in his chest, he didn't even realize he carried, eased when his gaze found Shepard again, and he angled them toward her. She'd managed to pull herself up to sitting, propped against a crate with her clear gaze locked onto him, never wavering as he approached.

"That looks painful," she said, her gaze sliding to Sidonis as Garrus lowered him to the floor next to her.

Sidonis chuffed, triggering a cough and a groan. "Looked in a mirror lately?"

Garrus winced, knowing Sidonis meant it in jest, but afraid Shepard's mindset might be too delicate to see the humor. He hummed to himself, his mandibles fluttering when her lips pressed into a thin smile, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter before she sucked in a sharp breath.

Cradling her ribs, she tilted her head back, resting it against the crate and licked her lips. "I try to avoid them as much as I can these days." Her gaze flicked to Garrus just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of doubt in her eyes before she looked back at Sidonis. "My hair's been a fright for months, I'm sure."

"I'll be right back," Garrus muttered to both of them before turning on his heel and jogging back to the room with the dead vorcha and turian-blood mural. It took him three tries to find the right weapons locker, and then two trips to lug all of Sidonis' gear from the locker back to the _torin_.

Sidonis picked up his assault rifle from the pile, pulling it into his lap.

"You able to fire that right now?" Shepard arched an eyebrow at him.

He checked the heat sink. "Of course. I'm turian, and I'm still breathing."

Shepard snorted and turned her attention back to Garrus. "Go find Sensat, we'll manage."

He didn't have to go far—and thank the Spirits, because he did _not_ want to leave either of them in their condition—because a noise from the vent drew all of their attention and the aim of their guns.

"Ah, L'oeuf, are you still alive?" The distinctly salarian voice echoed, distorted by the metal shaft.

"Yep, still alive. It's all clear, Sensat. You can come out now."

The muzzle of his pistol appeared before large, dark, round eyes. The salarian peered around the room, his gaze landing on Garm's remains before sweeping back to Shepard and holding steady on her. Garrus fought back a smile, it never ceased to amaze him how easily the tiny human woman drew others to her, how swiftly and completely she captured the loyalty of those she fought beside, even for a moment. Sensat scrambled down from the vent, landing in a crouch before popping back up to his feet, spinning with a dancer's grace as he moved foot over foot toward Shepard, still sweeping the room for danger.

Garrus glanced at Sidonis, unsurprised to find the _torin_ looking to him for confirmation, and lowered his weapon. "I'm going to call the others. Melenis is losing her mind over Sidonis, and I want you three out of here before reinforcements show up." He waved a finger between Shepard and Sidonis. "You two are moving too slow to make it far on your own feet."

* * *

He helped Shepard from the skycar, half carrying her—and only half because she refused to let him pick her up—into the clinic. He left Sidonis to the mercy of Melenis, the asari insisting on helping him whether he wanted the aid or not. She'd shifted from heartfelt apologies to furious rantings and back again the moment she saw just how bad Sidonis looked. Garrus knew it'd be weeks, maybe even months before she stopped blaming herself for letting the Blood Pack get their hands on Sidonis. In the meantime, the poor _torin_ was stuck with an asari nursemaid.

Garrus hated to admit it, but the idea brought him a little relief. If Melenis stayed preoccupied with Sidonis, it meant she wasn't paying attention to him, giving him the room to focus on getting Shepard back on her feet without feeling guilty. As much as Omega allowed him to, anyway. He needed to consider the possibility that whatever information Garm beat out of Sidonis got passed on to someone else, which meant more trouble on the horizon.

_As Weaver says: same_ tarc, _different day._

Dr. Solus met them just inside the door, already opening his omni-tool and tutting under his breath. "Beginning to think you enjoy pain." He motioned to the room Shepard had all but taken up residence in over the last couple of days. "Go inside. Get undressed. Will be there in a moment."

"Not even going to buy me a drink first, Doc?" She smiled up at the salarian before glancing at Garrus, barely meeting his gaze before looking away again, her pale skin taking on a pink hue.

Fluttering his mandibles, he nodded to the doctor and steered Shepard toward the room, letting her set the pace. "It, uh … hmmm, it's nice being back in the fight with you again, but Dr. Solus might have a point. Maybe we should try to keep your field time to a minimum until you're—until he's patched you up a little more."

She sucked in a deep breath, and he knew the look in her eye, but she let it out again and gave a light shake of her head. "Tabled until after my bones feel like they aren't being ripped out of my body."

He smirked, guiding her through the door. "I'll take it, and I won't even point out the fact by not arguing, you're proving my point."

She snorted, pulling away from him to lean against the bed, eyeballing her boots with a grimace. Dragging a chair closer, he sat down across from her and waggled his talons, waving at her foot. Smiling weakly, she eased herself up onto the bed and lifted a leg, letting him settle her boot in his lap. He started working at the buckles, wondering how she even managed to get them on in the first place.

"Careful, some of those are the only things holding me together."

Garrus glanced up at her, a smile stealing over his face at her lopsided grin. "Well, then we'll have to keep them on forever, and the doctor will just have to figure out how to work around them." He popped another buckle, his talons moving down to work at the next. "Or, I'll just be extra careful." Finishing the last one, he eased her boot off and dropped it to the floor next to his chair. "Your foot didn't fall off, so I take it as a good sign. What do you think; want to give the other a try?"

She pulled her leg away, offering up her right boot in replacement. "Alright, but if this one falls off, it's on you."

"Dr. Solus can sew it back on." Flicking a mandible, he set to work on the second boot.

They settled into a comfortable silence while he made short work of the buckles, tugging the boot off and tossing it to the side. Without question, he started in on the rows of buckles trailing up her legs, holding the leather asari-designed armor together. He'd helped Shepard take off her armor before, so it shouldn't feel so awkward, but something about the moment left the nerves in his hide tingling. With the leg pieces loosened, ready to slip off, he stood and moved to her arms.

He cleared his throat, searching for a distraction. "I bet Butler will be thrilled to have your goats around. I think we'll be able to set something up for them in the back, downstairs. I'm not really sure what to do about your garden—and the thresher maw—but we'll figure something out." He slid off the sleeves of the armor, setting them aside. Easing an arm around her waist, he helped her back to her feet. "I don't suppose we'll be able to get the goats into a skycar …." He focused on pulling the leg pieces the rest of the way off while she unzipped the body suit covering her torso.

"I still have the crates they were shipped to Omega in, they won't like going back inside, but it's probably the best way to move them."

He stepped back, eyeing her underarmor, his mandibles flaring before hugging his jaws. Idly scratching his neck he hummed. "Do you … should I … do you want help with …."

_Smooth, Garrus. Real smooth._

Shepard sighed, her nose scrunching up. "Yeah, it's probably best. I hate this part. Just be extra careful, move slow. If something sticks, don't force it or you'll just rip open wounds. Mordin will have to use a saline wash to loosen the fabric from my skin."

_Spirits. That puts things in perspective._

Garrus swallowed, the idea of stripping her naked suddenly absent of even the hint of being something tantalizing, instead leaving him terrified he'd hurt her. "Are you sure you want to risk it?"

Her eyebrows twitched up. "Afraid you're going to hurt me?"

He reached out, his talons sliding around to cup the back of her head, thumb resting on her cheekbone as he gently pressed his forehead against hers. "A little."

She closed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Don't go soft on me, Vakarian. You've pulled my ass out of the fire with worse injuries."

"Hmmm. True." He chuffed, pulling back. "Alright. Hang on to me, let me support your weight."

* * *

Garrus collapsed into Dr. Solus' chair behind the desk and let out a heavy sigh. He'd just checked in on Sidonis, finding the doctor's assistants already tending to the _torin_ —whom looked for all the galaxy as if he'd been given the heaviest dose of sedatives a _torin_ his size could handle, and then just a little more. Melenis paced outside Sidonis' room, undoubtedly chased out on doctor's orders; Garrus bet she had something to do with the _torin's_ state of oblivion. Shepard was under anesthetic, broken bones being reset and Spirits only knew what else being done. He figured it'd be a good time to slip away and make some calls, especially since Dr. Solus refused to let him stay in there with her.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to decide which of the old crew to call first … and what he'd even say to them but his mind kept wandering back to Shepard and what was potentially the most unnerving experience of his life around a naked woman. He didn't know where to look or where not to look, and he felt certain he'd hurt her a few times but she didn't say anything. Did he look too long? Worse, what if he didn't look long enough?

Not that there was anything even remotely sexual about helping Shepard undress just because it she found it too difficult for her to handle on her own … but it wasn't exactly the same as simply helping his old commanding officer out in a pinch, either. Did he touch her somewhere he shouldn't? He didn't know what parts were … sensitive on a human. She seemed far more bothered by the netting of scars crossing her body than she did being exposed to him, which made him feel like a _spurin_ for even contemplating her nakedness.

He wished she knew how beautiful he thought her scars were—they were proof of her _truly_ being alive—he only hated them because they caused her pain. If she kept to her end of the bargain with Radis, maybe they wouldn't be a problem for her much longer, though. He knew how scared she felt; he smelled it on her every time the subject came up. He'd give anything to be able to trade places with her, to keep her from having to live one more second in her own private _buratrum_ , but no matter how hard he wished ….

_Yeah, definitely scared, but also the bravest person I've ever known without a doubt._

He opened his omni-tool and stared at it blankly for a moment. Finally he pulled up Liara's contact information, if nothing else, her being an information broker might help them find the missing puzzle pieces. He placed the call, rehearsing what to say while the call connected.

The familiar face of Liara's personal assistant appeared on-screen and she smiled. "Mr. Vakarian, Liara will be pleased to hear from you. One moment and I'll connect you to her office."

"Thanks, Nyxeris."

The asari's smile grew just before the screen shifted, showing him a row of bouncing dots. After a moment, the screen flickered, the dots replaced with Liara.

"Garrus! It's so wonderful to see you." Liara folded her hands on the desk in front of her, her brow pulling in as she leaned forward. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you, is something wrong? You seem … troubled."

"I—Spirits, I don't know where to start." He ran his hand over his face from brow to chin. "Are you alone right now?"

She blinked at the question as if the answer should be more than obvious. "Of course. Garrus, what's happened?"

"I have something to tell you, but it's complicated, and you're probably going to think I'm crazy." He chuffed, shaking his head. "I probably wouldn't believe it if I were you, but I need you to trust me."

"Okay, I'm listening." She studied him, her brows drawn in over her blue eyes.

He spun the chair, resting his arm on the desk, running his other hand over his face again, tugging his mouth open when he hit his chin. "Shepard's alive, Liara. She's here, on Omega."

"Goddess …."

"I know, it sounds insane, but listen. I don't understand how exactly, but someone from the _Normandy_ found her body and gave her to Cerberus. Somehow those _kresat frasactis_ brought her back to life." He paused sweeping his hand over his crest as he shook his head.

"Garrus …."

"I'm not crazy, Liara. She's alive, and Cerberus is here looking for her. She's … I don't think they were done with whatever they were doing; putting her back together. She's covered in wounds that aren't healing right, you can see cybernetic implants glowing through the cracks in her skin." He cleared his throat. "I'm hoping you'll be able to help me; help her. I have some of Cerberus' files, and they make it clear someone from the _Normandy_ brought her to them, but it doesn't say who, only calls them 'she'. And there's a doctor here who thinks he can help her, finish what Cerberus started but he needs—"

"Garrus!"

He stopped talking, his mandibles flaring as he watched the emotions rolling over the face of his old friend too fast for him to keep up with. It was no real secret Liara cared for Shepard much the same way Garrus did, so did Kaidan. Shepard just had a way with people. This couldn't be easy for Liara to hear, but she needed to know. Any information she might be able to give him aside, she was Shepard's friend, and another tie to who she was before Alchera. Another anchor who might help keep her rooted in reality.

Liara squirmed a little, looking down at her hands. "I believe you, Garrus. I—I didn't tell anyone because I didn't know …. I couldn't be sure Cerberus would be successful, and I didn't want to give you false hope. I—"

"You? You were the one to give her to Cerberus? Spirits, Liara!" He leaned back in his chair, his brain feeling stalled inside of his thick, thick skull. How could she, and more frustrating, how did he so easily dismiss Liara as a possibility? " _Necon._ Don't tell me that." He shook his head, his mandibles glued to the side of his face.

"They said they could help her, Garrus." Her voice soft, her eyes pleading, she searched out his gaze. "I was desperate. Wouldn't you have done the same? It's Shepard we're talking about, you'd have done _anything_ to have her back."

_Would I?_

"I—I don't know." His shoulders sagged in defeat. He knew he couldn't honestly say with certainty what he'd do, faced with her decision. "She's not going to like this."

"Maybe she doesn't need to know, not yet, at least." Her wide eyes filled with hope.

Chuffing, he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying and failing to find the courage to ask the question floating around in his head: did Cerberus contact her, or did she contact them? Did it really matter? "I can't lie to her, Liara. I won't."

"Of course." She let out a deflated sigh. "Where is she? May I speak with her? At least allow me to explain myself to her."

"She's with the doctor at the moment, but I don't think she's ready to talk to anyone right now. She's not in her right state of mind. She found me by chance, and I'm damn lucky she let me get close enough to her to convince her she's really alive." He turned his focus back to the screen. "She thought she was still dead and Omega some sort of afterlife; me really some sort of Archangel from her religion."

"Goddess, how terrible." Liara covered her mouth with her hand for a moment and shook her head. "I'm sorry she's suffering, please tell her I am, but I had to try. Even if she hates me now. She's … _Shepard_ , and I had to try."

"Yeah." He let out a heavy breath, almost wishing he could erase the news from his memory. How was he supposed to tell Shepard? "I've got to go, Liara. I have some other calls to make, and I want to get them done before she wakes up again."

"Is there anything I can help with?" She held a hand out, as if offering him a solution to all of his problems. "I can call Dr. Chakwas, perhaps she can be of assistance?"

"No." He gave her a decisive shake of his head. "Shepard doesn't want anyone associated with the Alliance to know she's alive yet. With the state she's in, and the tie with Cerberus … it doesn't matter, I'm going to respect her wishes and if you ever want to make things right with her again, you'll do the same."

She looked like she'd just been slapped, her eyes wide, her lips moving in a silent stutter. "I see. Yes, of course. If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to call."

He knew he should apologize, maybe even thank her for having the courage to do what she did, because Spirits knew he felt immense gratitude Shepard was alive, but he just couldn't bring himself to do either of those things. Not when he knew how much the news would hurt Shepard. "You can see what you can find, anything Cerberus has on Shepard. Anything that might help the doctor fix her."

Liara squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin, the old archeologist given a puzzle to solve shining through. "I'll get right on it."

"Thanks, Liara. I'll be in touch."

"Goodbye, Garrus."

He closed his omni-tool, disconnecting the call, and leaned back in the chair again, staring up at the ceiling.

_Tarc. Well, at least I have some answers to give her. Not the answers I hoped for, but it's something. I should call Tali next; she'll probably think I'm a bosh'tet for not calling her first._

Sitting upright, he opened his omni-tool again, pulling up Tali's contact information. It didn't take long for the call to connect, but he froze the second he saw the quarian surrounded by people.

"Garrus? Garrus, hello? Can you hear me?" She growled. "Stupid bosh'tet omni-tool is on the fritz again."

_Well, at least she's got something else to focus her ire on._

He chuckled. "I can hear you, Tali. Don't suppose there's any chance you can go somewhere a little less crowded? I need to talk to you in private."

"Keelah, Garrus. I'm on the _Neema_ ; there's no such thing as privacy in the Flotilla." She turned glancing over her shoulder first one way then the other. "Hold on a second, I'll see what I can find."

He waited as she moved, glimpses of gardens flashing past the screen along with countless quarians going about their lives. A few moments later, the sounds of chatter dropped, replaced with the strong thrum of engines.

Tali stopped walking and glanced around her again, lowering herself to the floor, leaning against metal grating. "Okay, what's up?"

Garrus hummed, one talon tracing the stitching on Dr. Solus' chair. "Bear with me, I'm not really sure where to start."

Her exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. "It's hot in here, you're killing me. Out with it already, Vakarian!"

He chuffed and held up his hand. "Alright. I, hmmm, I have some news I think will make you happy. Shepard's body was recovered after the attack on the _Normandy_."

"Oh." She made a noise deep in her throat, sounding almost turian. "I suppose that's good news … but I can't say it makes me happy."

"I'm not finished." His mandibles fluttered as he shifted in the chair, weighing out how to proceed. Should he tell Tali about Liara's involvement in everything? He didn't even tell Shepard yet. Maybe a little selfish of him, but he needed to share the revelation with someone who'd understand the weight of Liara's decision. "Liara found Shepard and took her body to Cerberus."

"Cerberus!" Her shocked screech tore through his aurals, stinging like _moruvesin_. "Keelah, why would she do something so horrible?"

Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slow, digging down deep to find a little patience for the excitable quarian. "Tali, let me finish."

"Right, sorry." She tilted her head to the side. "I'm listening, go on."

Tapping his talon on the arm of the chair, he shifted in his seat again. "Cerberus did the impossible, they brought her back to life." He paused, waiting for her reaction before he decided what to say next.

Tali gasped and sputtered. "Garrus Vakarian! This is just cruel. Why are you joking about something like this?" Her eyes widened, her voice decidedly wounded. "Keelah, what has Omega done to you?"

He winced. He didn't really blame her, though. He'd been cold, harsh even, to both her and Liara when they tried to pull him from the depths of his wallowing. "I'm not joking." His mandibles hugged his jaws. "Shepard's alive, barely maybe, but alive and mostly in one piece. She's here with me. Well, not right this second; she's in with a doctor, but she's here on Omega."

Silence stretched between them for long seconds before Tali finally whispered, "Keelah se'lai, you're serious."

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Call Liara and ask her yourself if you want."

"Oh. Oh." Her hand fluttered to her head, rubbing at the fabric of her hood. "Oh, I think I need to sit down."

Fighting back a smile, he kept his voice level. "You are sitting down."

She huffed. "Then I need to lie down." Sucking in a shaky breath, she rubbed at her head some more. "How, Garrus? How is this even possible?"

"I don't have all of the answers yet." Spirits knew he wished he did, maybe then he'd find a way to make it all better for Shepard. "All I know is she's in bad shape, and Cerberus is after her. She woke up earlier than they expected and," he said, holding his hand out in explanation, "Shepard being Shepard, she escaped their facilities. She's been hiding here, living in an abandoned mine on Omega, getting help from a salarian doctor who runs a free clinic here."

Tali sat in stunned silence for a moment before a flood of questions came rushing out of her all at once. "Is she going to be okay? Why is Cerberus after her? How did you find her?"

"She found me, it's a long story." Fluttering his mandibles, he brushed the question aside, wanting to focus on more important ones. "I don't know for certain why Cerberus wants her back so badly, but she doesn't want to go with them, and I'm not letting them take her while I'm still breathing." He paused, realizing he didn't really want to tell Tali just how damaged Shepard was; a burden she didn't need to bear when she could do nothing to make it better. "Dr. Solus thinks he can do more to help her—to stabilize her—but until now she's been unwilling to let him. She's agreed to his help now, though. So yeah, I think she's going to be okay."

"I don't understand, why wouldn't she let him stabilize her before now?"

"This whole thing's been really traumatic for her." He pulled his shoulder up a little. "She's in pain, scared, confused—and until she found me—alone."

"Give me a few days, I can come to Omega. I'll … I don't know, but I should be there for her, too." Tali pushed herself to her feet.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea right now, Tali," he said, even though he thought she might be right. "She's not ready yet, connections to her old life upset her. She doesn't want anyone in the Alliance to know she's alive, I can barely get her to use her own name. She had trouble accepting me at first, too, I don't want to risk making her pull away again."

"Shepard is my friend … she's family." She put her hand on her hip, cocking it to the side. "You can't tell me she's alive and expect me to stay away!"

"Please, Tali. I know it's not fair to you, but it's what she needs right now." He rubbed his brow. "Maybe I can get her to call you or something."

She shifted her weight from side to side before finally sighing. "If I don't hear from her, I expect regular updates from you."

He nodded. "Sure, you got it."

"Okay. Well, it's starting to feel like Therum in here so …." She flipped her hand.

He chuckled. "Go. I'll call you in a few days."

Her eyes narrowed. "Two days."

"Two days." Fluttering his mandibles, he smirked. "Bye, Tali."

She waved at the screen before disconnecting the call, leaving Garrus feeling emotionally exhausted. Between Shepard nearly getting herself killed by Garm, finding Sionis beaten half to death, learning of Liara's responsibility for Shepard being alive with Cerberus on her tail … he could really use a drink and a solid night's sleep with Shepard safe and sound in his arms. He groaned, knowing he wouldn't be getting either of those things anytime soon. He still needed to call Wrex, finish making plans for the children Shepard saved, and figure out what in _buratrum_ they were going to do with the Cerberus operative tied up in the other room. He smiled, remembering he also needed to make plans to get Shepard moved to the base … and apparently make accommodations for the _perir_.

_Spirits, does this make her his mother now?_

Garrus hummed, the base really wasn't the safest place for a _puer_ , especially if mercs showed up, but what else could he do? Clearly Shepard wasn't going to send Radis away, and the _perir_ obviously didn't want to leave her side. They were a package deal, at least for now, and no reality existed in which Garrus would ever deny Shepard something she cared so much about or pass up the chance to have her come stay with him. They'd just have to find a way to make it work.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. At least he could count on Wrex to not complicated the conversation with shocking news or a million questions. Turning his attention back to his omni-tool, he placed a call to Wrex. It took a minute for the call to go through, but when it did, the old krogan's scarred face brought back an unexpected flood of memories from their shared time on the _Normandy_. Their shared hatred of Saren and fighting side by side in blood soaked battle after battle eventually forged an unlikely bond between the two of them, a real rarity for a krogan and a turian.

He'd only spoken to Wrex a couple of times since the _Normandy_ went down and Shepard died, neither one of them the type to talk about their feelings. Wrex certainly wasn't one to harp on Garrus about drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle or the blood of countless mercs and gangs on Omega—unlike Liara and Tali. Wrex left him to his misery. He should've made the effort, called Wrex once in awhile, just to see how the old man was holding up on his mission to unite Tuchanka.

_So much for uncomplicated._

"Hello, Wrex."

"Garrus. What do you want? I'm trying to eat." As if to prove his point, Wrex hefted a chunk—of what Garrus thought to be roasted varren—in his fist and ripped a piece off with his teeth. Hot grease and bloody juices rolled down his chin as he chewed, blinking his giant orbs of eyes at Garrus.

"I'll keep it brief, then." He flicked his mandibles. "Liara took Shepard's body to Cerberus, and Cerberus brought Shepard back to life. She found me on Omega, and I'm helping her get back on her feet."

Wrex swallowed before throwing his head back, a guttural chortle shaking his entire frame. A sound like a warhammer connecting with a skull—Wrex slapping the table?—reverberated through the omni-tool on Garrus' wrist.

Lifting a mug, Wrex drank heartily before turning his attention back to the screen. "I've never met anyone with a bigger set of quads. Can't say I'm surprised she beat death. Get her patched up, put a gun in her hand, and bring her to Tuchanka. I'll take her hunting."

Garrus chuckled. "I'll let her know you're expecting her. I'll let you get back to your dinner. Take care, Wrex."

"Yeah. You, too, Garrus," Wrex said, dipping his head a little.

* * *

At the first sight of Dr. Solus leaving Shepard's room, Garrus made a beeline for the door. A glimpse of Radis, hovering nearby with clear signs of distress etched into his features as he watched Shepard's door, stopped Garrus in his tracks. He hesitated, chuffing softly before approaching the _perir_. Radis turned his head at the sound, looking up at Garrus with big, scared eyes.

Edging a little closer, Garrus took a seat in a chair positioned next to the door and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his talons left to dangle between his legs. "I'm just about to go in to check on her, do you want to come with me? I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

The _puer_ shifted from foot to foot, turning to face Garrus more fully. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

Garrus hummed and sucked in a slow breath. "Shepard—L'oeuf is a very brave woman, a soldier, and soldiers help people whenever they can." His mandibles fluttered as he thought over his next words, deciding honesty the best policy, he tilted his head a little before continuing, "My friend, Sidonis—you remember him?" He paused, giving Radis a chance to nod. "Some people took him earlier, and L'oeuf went with me to help get him back. It was dangerous, but she was very brave, and didn't give up even when she got hurt—and we got Sidonis back."

Radis glanced around the clinic before taking half a step closer, his voice pitched low when he asked, "Someone took him … like they took me?"

Garrus swallowed, berating himself for being so thick-headed and slow but finally nodded.

"Did you make sure they won't hurt anyone else?" Radis moved a little closer, wringing his talons in front of him, reminding Garrus of Tali.

Garrus flicked his mandibles and nodded again. "We did, and L'oeuf will be just fine. Dr. Solus is taking good care of her."

"Will Sidonis be okay, too?" Radis' mandibles fluttered gently, a curious yet cautious chirp coming from his throat.

Garrus pushed himself to his feet. "Sidonis is tough, just like you, he'll pull through. You don't need to worry about him." Flicking his talons, he gestured between the _perir_ and the door. "Come on, let's go see if she's awake."

He took a couple of steps towards the door and nearly stumbled over his own feet when he felt little talons wrap around his own. Glancing down at Radis, he closed his talons around the _perir's_ fragile hand and headed for the door; trying really hard to not see himself as his father in one of the rare moments of shared affection from his childhood.


	19. Chapter 19: To Dream, Perchance to Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party turned into a flurry of hugs and laughter, hours passing in merry conversation before the colony sirens shattered the peaceful night air ... before that terrible wailing shattered her life.

( **Previously on Alphas of Omega:**  L'oeuf took out the adult members of a gang that used children to steal, leaving Archangel with fourteen children to find homes for. Shepard fell in love with Radis, a badly injured turian child. Shepard and Garrus delved into Blood Pack territory to rescue Sidonis, both Shepard and the turian taking some serious injuries. Miranda Lawson is being held in Mordin's clinic as they try to recruit her assistance in repairing Shepard's failing body. And now ….)

**To Dream, Perchance to Heal**

**(MosaicCreme consulted with and is responsible for all Garrus dialogue and actions. Yup, this baby is co-written!)**

_Metal clinks against glass. "Everyone! Hey! Listen up." The clinking grows cacophonous until Jon's voice hollers over the merry din. "Shut up!"_

_She studies his face, heart beating hard but steady as her gaze latches onto the clear, ice blue of his eyes; they shine brighter than the full moons beneath his studious brows and shock of ebony hair. They're so bright, in fact, that they form the power that keeps her heart beating and air moving through her lungs._

_Silence falls over the table, four parents staring at him with lifted eyebrows and shocked expressions that sit like masks over layers of underlying humour._

_Jon clears his throat. "With the greatest respect, of course."_

_That earns him a laugh from the gathered clans, but she just stares up at him, heart swelling inside her chest, a wide grin meeting his softer smile when theirs gazes touch._

_At the head of the table, Jon's father, Derek, lifts his glass. "A toast," he calls, taking advantage of Jon's hard won silence. "To my son: top of his class and off to the academy. May the Lord shine His light on Jon's path and bring him home to us safe and sound."_

_She raises her glass to that, clinking the tumbler of apple juice against Matt's—her older brother—and then Jon's. "Hear hear!" When he reaches down for her hand, she takes it between both of hers and says, "No two years will ever feel as though they pass more slowly."_

_Jon bends down, kissing her softly, the show of affection greeted by another storm of good cheer. Turning on her brother and parents with glowing, heated cheeks, she shushes them._

" _Go on," she whispers, pressing a soft kiss against Jon's lips, "take advantage of the quiet while it lasts."_

_Jon lets out a long breath and brushes her cheek with a gentle palm. "First day of Grade One, Tyler Ferguson pushed me down in the playground and stole my lunch."_

" _We know this story," Matt says, his words twisting through a heavy groan. "Booooooooring."_

_She kicks her brother in the shin. "Let the man speak." A bright grin meets Matt's return kick, but she doesn't rise to the bait. At that rate, they'll be old before Jon got out their news. She glances at her father, smiling as he meets her gaze, eyes bright with emotion. She blows him a kiss followed by a crooked smile._

" _Anyway," Jon continues, his dark complexion shining gold in the flickering lamplight, "the next thing I knew, Tyler hit the ground beside me, his nose pouring blood, and the rest of his little gang were just dust clouds hanging in the air."_

_She bumps her shoulder against Jon's leg, her reaction to his exaggeration knocking loose his signature chuckle: warm and throaty, the pitch of it one he reserves for her and her alone. It's the sound of love and safety as much as her father's booming voice._

" _I looked up to see this tiny, fierce warrior standing over me, her gingham dress stained with dirt and grass, my smashed up lunch clenched in a bloody fist." Jon waits through the good-humoured teasing, then squeezes her hand. "She took my hand, pulled me up, and has never let me go." He looks up at his parents, a wide grin transforming his handsome face into something so beautiful that it practically stops her heart._

_He sighs, his hand trembling ever so slightly in her grip. "Yesterday, I asked her father if he'd grant me permission to take her hand and hold onto it for the rest of our lives."_

_Jon's declaration sends up a flurry of joy and surprise, most of the surprise coming from their mothers and revolving around their ages. After all, she's just turned sixteen and Jon, at eighteen, is leaving for the Alliance Marines in a couple of days._

_Then her father stands, a low, growling rumble rolling over the rest: clearing his throat all he needs to do bring about instant silence. "I gave them my blessing to promise themselves to one another until Jon completes his first year in the military. A long engagement will allow them both to grow into their marriage." Nodding to Jon, the Shepard patriarch sits back down, his eyes gleaming with what she guesses to be equal measures of joy and sorrow, the combination mirrored by the bands wrapping themselves around her heart._

_Jon kneels before her, captivating her full attention between one breath and the next. "Bluejay, when I come back, I never intend to leave your side again." Taking her hand in one of his, he holds the other out. In the center of his calloused palm, two small, brilliant diamonds gleam in a setting of silver/blue platinum. "Will you take this ring and wear it as my promise to love you and take care of you for the rest of our lives?"_

_Breathless—sweet mother Mary, the ring must have cost him ten head from his herd—she simply holds out her ring finger, her smile feeling brighter than the glow from the lamps. Once the ring hugs just below her knuckle, she wraps her arms around Jon's neck, pulling him close._

" _As long as you hold my promise to love you and take care of you right next to your heart," she whispers in his ear, arms locked around him._

" _Always." He rests his head against hers, their cheeks pressed to one another's ears. "Always."_

_The Shepard patriarch stands again, his arms reaching out, his eyes gleaming at her when she and Jon part. It's an invitation she can't, and doesn't try, to resist._

_Jon helps her up, refusing to release her hand until she steps too far to stretch any further, and even then, his grip gives way reluctantly. As much as she dreads her love's departure for Earth, she knows that he feels the impending separation just as keenly, if not more. They haven't spent a day apart in more than half their lives._

_Her father's embrace, encompassing and so safe and filled with love, shatters the golden, lamp-kissed memory. She twitches, hard and spastic, as reality dumps a trough of ice water over the rich warmth of the memory. That was its nature … its truth. Memory … dream ... not the present. Not now, but then._

_Her father held her for a couple of minutes before inviting Jon into the embrace._

_The party turned into a flurry of hugs and laughter, hours passing in merry conversation before the colony sirens shattered the peaceful night air ... before that terrible wailing shattered her life._

_As one, both families stood and pushed out into the darkness, torches quickly lit, lamps searching the night even as her father ran for the barn and fired up the generators to turn on the security lights._

" _Matt, get the rifles from the house," her father called, leaning through the barn door. "Might be nothing, but we'd better be ready. Laura, get the horses into the back pasture."_

_Jon's father turned to the cluster of teenagers at the door, tightly controlled fear searching out Jon. "You and Jane, get the crate from the shed behind the school." He threw a key to his son, then bolted back into the house, shouting back over his shoulder to his wife, "Lacy, get the women and children who can't shoot into the loft of the Shepards' barn!"_

" _Yes, sir," Jon called to the empty doorway, then grabbed her hand, eyes shadowed in the contrast of blackness broken by glaring lights. "Stay with me."_

" _You stay with me." She laughed, flint-edged, and took off, pulling him behind her. "I'll protect you." She and Jon had learned to hunt and fight side by side after the day she'd saved him on the schoolyard. As the only girl in the two families, their fathers included her in all the man trips, and training. They lived on the frontier's edge of the galaxy and Mindoir; she needed to be able to defend herself just as much as the boys._

" _My hero." She could tell he tried for teasing, just as she had, but fear's scalpel-edge pared it down to nothing. They ran across three fields, thunder echoing across the low hills from the main settlement before they crossed the second. Lights—ships no doubt—settled to the ground everywhere she looked, still distant, but for how long?_

" _So much for the alarms being a drill," Jon said, his voice choked. He clenched down on her hand and dug in, pulling her behind him the rest of the way. "The Alliance will be deploying everywhere," he said between panting breaths when they slid to a stop in front of the shed._

" _Everywhere but here," she agreed, breaking free to haul open the sliding door. The inside of the shed smelled of soil, grease, and dust: a scent as familiar and comforting as her mother's hair. Unlike most of her visits to the shed, no comfort lingered in the darkness. Instead, sinister possibilities lurked in every shadow and behind every familiar pillar and beam._

" _Grab the crate," she whispered to Jon, turning her back toward the familiar bulk of the shed. "I'll keep watch."_

" _Our moms should have the rest of the community to your barn by now, right?" Jon ran into the dark, the shadows swallowing him in two steps. "Maybe they'll head for McTavish's if they're cut off before they reach your place."_

_Unable to remain still, she bolted to the corner without answering, knowing he didn't expect her to. Palms pressed to the warm brick, she leaned out, peering toward the main settlement. Its security and Alliance soldiers amounted to nothing more than distant lightning and thunder. In the gulf of darkness between, abandoned, the hamlet's school and market stabbed out through the sea of mute grass, pale bones unworthy of burial. Every time moonlight flickered on the windows, sinister and hungry—the glint in a raven's eye—she jumped, hands leaping for her absent rifle._

" _For the sake of all that's holy, Jane, stop freaking yourself out." She shook herself and turned toward the sound of dragging. "There's nothing coming thi—" A foreign sound … the drone of a hornet or a nest of them ... cut her words off before they escaped. "Wha …? That a shuttle?" She ducked back out, but couldn't make out more than lights in the sky. They didn't get shuttles over their land, the airspace above it kept clear of modern influence._

" _Or gunships." Jon nodded toward the other end of the crate. "Come on."_

_She grabbed the handle, but hesitated, dragging back against his pull. "We need to turn on the lamps in the school. Maybe it'll slow them down, give everyone a chance to get set."_

_Jon grinned, a sliver of admiration forcing its way through his solid mask of fear. "It should be you heading for the Alliance, Bluejay." He put down the crate and popped the lock. After taking a semi-automatic for himself, he passed her a pistol that she shoved down the back of her jeans, the metal chill but reassuring against her skin. Jon hesitated before lifting a rifle in one hand. "Do you want this or wait for your own?"_

_She snatched it from his hand, the distant droning swelling until she could taste the bitter metal of it in the back of her throat, and panic filled her head with sulfur, jaundiced and fetid. "Let's just get the guns to the barn." Ignoring the sting, she heaved the nest of hornets to the back of her mind and slammed the door on it, just as she'd been taught. Shoving the crate lid closed, she nodded toward the long run back. "Let's go."_

_Jon nodded. "I've got your six." Hefting the crate between them, they raced across the last bit of the playground, past the swings their daddies had built, and up the schoolhouse steps, where they abandoned the crate._

" _Meet me back here in two," she said, her tone daring him to beat her. As much as she loved every single cell in his body, she knew even impending doom wouldn't prevent him from rising to a dare. Before he answered, wasting more time, she bolted, her shoes squeaking on Elder Patuk's lemon-oil polished floors. She breathed the scent in so deep that it bit into her nostrils, tweaking a sneeze, but it helped tip her insides back to plumb._

_The basement and lamp at the top of the stairs blazed with light, the wicks turned up high, when she beat him back to the front door by the barest of seconds. Without a word, they lifted the crate and set off into the night._

_The tilled and seeded earth beneath their feet began to rumble, vibrating with approaching vehicles—heavy ones—by the time they reached the edge of McTavish's lot. Stopping for a quick breather, she dove into the crate for one of the pairs of field glasses._

" _Shit," she said, the word coming out on a gasp. "There's a wall of vehicles coming this way on two sides." She tossed him the glasses, running even while he fumbled. "The air attack turned toward my farm. Come on, let's unlock the stash and get old man McTavish's barn ready for us to fall back. It'll only take ten minutes."_

_Jon nodded and ran ahead to heave open one of the massive sliding doors. "That ten minutes could save our asses if we're retreating." He raced to the first stall, the horse inside throwing itself into a rear as it shied away._

_All those lights … all those vehicles filled with … what? Pirates? Slavers?_

_Racing up the open-backed stairs two at a time, the familiar, hollow thunk followed her, a reminder that they were fighting to protect their home and their families. They'd been trained well and knew every particle of the land inside out. She sucked a breath into trembling lungs. They could do it. While they couldn't take on everything she'd seen coming for them, they only needed to hold out until the Alliance got there._

_She unlocked the weapon locker and threw open the lids on the double line of rain barrels before clambering up the hay to throw open the sniper positions. By the numbers ... her father's words to her the first time he took her hunting, would see her through._

"Taking a life is never an easy thing, Kitten," he said as she cried and shook, the grazer lined up in her scope, "but sometimes it's necessary to feed or protect your family. Understand? So you do it by the numbers. Focus on your breathing, the steps you need to take. Let them fill up all the space in your head. By the numbers. One … breathe … slow your heartbeat."

_By the numbers, she piled the work on top of her fear, focusing on getting the barn ready. All those enemies coming? Even with everyone shooting, they'd need a fall back position. Freaking out and turning into a blubbering mess could wait until after the bullets._

" _Hurry up! They're closing on us."_

_Jon's bellow pulled her down the last few stairs and out the door. Jon slammed it closed as she snatched up the crate and took off, dragging it a handful of metres before he caught hold. Glancing at him, she allowed herself half a heartbeat to adore him for how well he knew and trusted her. No questions, just … 'Okay, Bluejay handled everything. Moving on.'_

_They powered out at the top of the second of two long climbs, setting down the crate to catch their breath. Her farm glowed with light, Jon's just visible more than a half section away. Gunfire cracked the night: lightning shattering glass. Flinging open the crate in unison, both she and Jon dove for binoculars. Soldiers in armour. She adjusted the magnification, bringing them into focus. Most wore helmets, their forms human-looking, but then she caught sight of a head, lifted above the roof of an APC, bare and most definitely batarian. Her hand twitched toward the pistol at the small of her back._

" _Slavers," she whispered, knowing how easily sound traveled in the cooler, evening air. She scanned the farm, the flow of battle obvious even from nearly a half a klick away. "Everyone's in our barn."_

" _Yeah." Jon hung the glasses around his neck and closed the lid on the container before lifting it. "They're holding them back for now, but once the rest of those buggers get here …."_

_She hefted the other side of the crate. "Let's get down there before they cut us off."_

_The air burned her throat as smoke twined through the cold, night air. It settled in her lungs, molten lead burrowing deeper into the tissue with every breath as she fought to keep up with Jon. It didn't help that he had six inches—all leg—on her. Despite their unrelenting speed, the batarian APCs breathed down their necks by the time they hit the windbreak on the south end of the cow pasture. They dropped the crate and bent over, heels of their hands pressed into their knees as they heaved, scrambling for a few seconds of oxygen._

_She heard her father's voice, loud but calm, as it breached the metres between them. Taking one last gulp of air, she hoisted her end of the increasingly heavy crate. "Come on. They need the gun hands."_

_Jon stopped her, a warm hand on her elbow. "Wait." He pointed to the dark canopy of leaves where the windbreak circled around to protect the house and leeward side of the barn. "If we get up in the treehouse, we've got a sniper's nest that they'll have a hell of a time finding."_

_She started dragging the crate toward the barn's side door. "Let's get the weapons in there, and ask Papa where he wants us." A ghost flitted across her face. "With silencers, we'd be silent and deadly, just like Matt."_

_Jon rewarded the poor jest with a crooked grin and leaped to pick up the other end of the crate._

_Inside, the barn looked for all the world like her parents were hosting the monthly dance, except that instead of punch and food, everyone held guns in their hands but for a cluster of children at the center._

" _Papa?" she called, spotting her father in one of the downstairs windows, the heavy, wooden shutters bolted over the opening in the heavy, mud-brick foundation. "We've got the crate."_

" _Get the medical kit and patch up Elder Patuk's arm," he ordered without turning from the rifle slot._

" _Go tell him about the treehouse," she told Jon before running for the medical cupboard. "I'll see to the elder." Elder Patuk, his title reflecting his station rather than his extreme old age, sat on a bale of hay, his left arm pouring blood. "What in the name of the sweet mother Mary did you do here?" she asked, keeping her tone light as she knelt next to him._

_Sagging into her touch as if being treated gave him permission to feel the injury, the great-great-grandfather explained, "The batarians tried to take Saanvi and the boys."_

_She unwrapped the pressure bandage. "And naturally, you fought them off." She grinned. "God blessed you with a fierce heart, Elder." After pouring styptic powder all over the wound, she cleaned it up and pulled the jagged edges closed with adhesive sutures. "All better, but take a breather, drink some water, and then maybe stick to supporting the others."_

" _Bluejay!" Thundering footsteps raced up the stairs. "Grab your rifle, and let's go."_

_She clambered to her feet, tossing back an admonition even as she ran for the weapons locker. "Don't be getting into any more knife battles, Elder."_

_Jon opened the small door at the rear of the barn's leeward side and peered out into the blotchy darkness. She pressed into the opening next to him and closed her eyes, listening to the ebb and flow of gunshots. The batarians remained pinned down at the front of the barn. She grinned, a vicious slash in her face: the slaving buggers thought their prey nothing more than backwards farmers. She'd be willing to bet—Jesus forgive her—that they knew better now._

" _Let's go," she whispered, pushing past him to dash for the windbreak. Her father had built the treehouse in the armpit of three massive branches in the canopy of a twenty metre tall deciduous fir analog. Her mother threw fits over a potential four storey fall, but they'd never taken the climb or the height for granted and never fallen._

_Ducking into the strap, she slung her rifle over her back, shoving the silencer into her pocket before reaching up to the lowest branches. Despite the urgency, she forced herself to keep operating by the numbers, keeping her breathing and heart rate slow, testing every hand and foot hold before putting her weight behind it._

_She pushed up through the hatch and clambered up, not waiting to help Jon. Still, she listened for him as she screwed the silencer onto her rifle and leaned it into a bracket against the closed shutters. She opened one of the sturdy wooden panels and raised her binoculars to scan the field._

" _There's an entire flank open to fire from here," she told him, watching the batarians hiding behind their shuttles and portable energy barriers. Her heart leaped into her throat, the reality of hundreds of batarian slavers overriding the numbers. "I never … " She turned to Jon. "The Alliance … they're supposed to do this. I … I can barely shoot a grazer."_

_Jon set his rifle into another bracket and knelt in front of her, his hands cradling her face. "You'll be okay, Bluejay. You've got the heart of a warrior. Just remember the lessons. Focus on your breathing, your heartbeat, and your aim."_

_She gulped, her throat too tight for the apple she tried to swallow. "They're not people. They're targets. Just targets."_

_He kissed her, strong and a little rough. "It's either us or them, love. It's either us or them." Pressing his brow to hers, he just held her, breathing slow and deep. "I love you." The words dropped into the breath between them, and she inhaled, eyes closed, drawing them deep inside._

" _You're it, you know?" she answered. "My only love." She kissed him and took a deep breath, anchoring his love to the very center of her, locking it down tight. "Darn it, I could never be Alliance … never be a soldier. I'm not as brave as you are, but you're right. Let's save our families."_

" _Let's save our families." He nipped at her bottom lip as he pulled away, trying for playful. "By the numbers."_

_She nodded and shoved her shoulders back before lifting her rifle and setting it up on the sill of the window. "Just a target." Closing her eyes, she focused on the numbers. Breathe, calm the heartbeat until it's slow enough to shoot between one heartbeat and the next. Line up with the target for the most merciful shot. "Just a target."_

_Her finger wrapped around the trigger, her gut churning through four breaths._

_Just a target. Just a target. Just a …._

_Between one heartbeat and the next, she squeezed ever so gently, the angry insect sound of the bullet cutting the air, the target dropping._

" _Target," she whispered. "Target." She reloaded and took aim, the numbers stumbling over the body of her first victim. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed. "Just a target. Not a man, just a target. Not a man. Not a man."_

" _You okay there, Bluejay?" Jon glanced at her over his shoulder, not an action she saw, but rather heard and felt._

_She knew him better than she knew anyone. They'd shared every secret, every dream. She opened her eyes and met his searching stare with a firm nod. "Yeah." For him. To save him from the slavers' shackles, she could turn them into targets._

" _Just a target," she repeated, a confirmation as she let out a long breath and squeezed the trigger. The batarian dropped, a perfect headshot, and she moved on to the next._

_It felt like they'd been at it for hours, her arms trembling so hard she started missing shots, when she heard the community's truck roar to life. It burst out through the front doors and spun around, driving right up under their tree._

_She shoved herself up, searching the barn and the truck, the sudden break in her routine setting terror loose in her gut, all claws and teeth and cold stone. "Where are my parents?" she demanded, not seeing them in the truck. "Are they coming?"_

" _We're all pulling back," Jon's father called. "You can meet them at McTavish's. Come! Quickly! We've got them down, but a lot more are on the way." He held up his hands. "Drop your rifle."_

_She nodded and lowered it as far as she could before letting it fall. Even then, he'd probably break his fingers catching it._

" _Catch!" Jon called down before he dropped his rifle. "Come on, love. We've got them on the run! It won't be long now." He ran to the hatch and yanked it open. "Come on, we've got to move." Another bracing smile and he lowered himself through, descending a bit quicker than she considered safe._

_When Jon reached the halfway point, she followed, the sound of the slaver reinforcements loud enough to spur her into greater speed._

" _Jump, Bluejay," Jon called from the truck bed. He held out his arms, coaxing her from at least four metres down. "Trust me, I'll catch you."_

" _The shuttles are nearly here!" Matt called from the driver's window. "Come on, Jane. Move it."_

_Without a second thought, she jumped, the long drop as close as she'd ever felt to flying and as close as she'd ever felt to the side of her Maker. Sweet mother Mary, if dying felt like that, then bring on the angels. She closed her eyes and spread her arms._

_She slammed down, Jon knocking the breath from her as he caught her, his outstretched hands bruising as they wrapped around her ribcage, just below her breasts. He held her against him for the briefest of moments, his mouth pressed to her ear as she gasped for breath, fighting to get some air … any air into her lungs. "Easy," he whispered, "I've got you." He kissed her ear. "I told you: I'll always be holding you right here, safe in my arms."_

_She touched down, her toes hitting the floor of the truck box as the heavy crack of a sniper rifle shattered the tenuous silence. Hot, thick, wet splashed across her face as Matt hit the gas, throwing everyone in the truck on their backside. Except her. She fell face down, her nose pressed to Jon's cheek. Heart fluttering, lungs paralyzed, she floundered, finally managing to plant one hand and push up._

_Her eyes searched Jon's face, struggling to understand what she saw. Then a monster of blood and flame roared behind the truck, all searing light and gore that tore her stare away from her love to fix on the nightmare of its face._

' _Just a target, Jane. He's just a target,' that monster jeered, laughing as she tried to scream, the beast stealing the air from her lungs. 'Don't worry, Bluejay. Bluejay … Bluejay … what a funny name. Bluejay … Bluejay … squawking at the dark. He was just a target. You're all just targets waiting for a bullet to find you.'_

" _Bluejay!" Hands yanked at her, ripping her away from Jon. Impossible hands, dragging, pulling at her. She fought them, but two replaced every one she managed to rip away._

_She screamed, gouging her nails into the hands. No! No, not Jon. Not Jon! Weak and spastic, she flailed, trying to climb free, to get back to him, but her arms refused to obey. No! The hands had to let her go. Jon needed her. He was not a target. He was loved and she needed to get back to him. She managed to throw herself free of their grasp, her palm swiping at the blood in her eyes. A thick stream splashed across Jon's shirt, black glistening with crimson flame painting across the darker black soaking his shirt._

" _Jane … Bluejay … " Hands tugged at her again. "You've been shot, baby." Arms pulled her in against a warm, solid chest. "Jon's gone, sweetie. We've got to get your bleeding stopped."_

_Try as she might to beat away the hands that wrapped around her neck, her arms refused to cooperate, lead weights hanging from her shoulders. All around her, the monster roared, flame and blood obscuring everything else from sight. She battled against it, every cell in her body screaming for her to go back to Jon. If he was dead and she was dying, why couldn't they just let her bleed out with her arms around her love?_

" _Hold on, baby," Jon's father said, his voice distant and fading, his hands agony where they gripped her throat. "You hear me? You hold—"_

Something yanked her from the pain and darkness into damp and stink and sickly green light. She surged up, arms flailing, lungs fighting for air. One of her hands connected with skin hard enough to hurt. A soft, pained grunt preceded a gentle hand on her hair.

"Easy, Shepard. Careful, Radis is right behind you," a comforting, familiar voice whispered. "Breathe, it was ..."

She winced, the specter of Garrus's next word curling through her gut, frozen and clawed. Just. That's what they always said. The docs and the psychs never stopped saying it: It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a … just … just …. There was no 'just' to any of it.

She relaxed, easing back into the mattress and pillow. Mordin's clinic. Garrus.

She knew what the doctors and other well-meaning people meant by 'just a nightmare'. They intended to separate her night terrors from waking reality, but instead, it felt like dismissal. Her fists spasmed, nails digging into the pad of her thumb as she pounded her temples: just a nightmare … just pretend terrors ... just nightmares … not real … not important … no … not what counted ... not what counted … not even back when Jon died over and over every night … no, not even Jon … not Jon … not death … not the monster … not real. Jon didn't count. Jon who took the bullet. Jon who promised her forever and died baptized in both of their blood. Jon. Not Jon. It had been so long since she last dreamed of that night. The hands around her throat pulled her down, so far down into the darkness.

No. No. No. No. No.

"... a nightmare," Garrus finished simply, one hand laying over her fist, stilling her hands and her mind. "It seemed like one hell of a nightmare, but you're safe, here with me in Mordin's clinic." The hand that had stirred her from sleep stroked her hair, pulling her free of the freezing grip and easing the long breath she held locked in her throat down in her lungs. "I've got you." He paused, and she swore she could feel his smile warming the air between them, his breath changing, growing softer, looser. "And Radis has you."

She stilled beneath that warm, calloused palm as it brushed her hair back from her brow. She could feel the glowing-sun-heat of the tiny turian curled in against her back, his little butt pressed right into the small of her back, his cowl between her shoulder blades.

She looked up, seeing the smile that time as Garrus continued, "If he was any closer, Mordin would need to do surgery to remove him."

"He's wonderfully warm." She sank into her pillow, her eyes sagging shut. "It's nice."

"So, your nightmare … reapers?" he asked, the tone so gentle and smooth that he could have been asking if she'd dreamed of puppies.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, just savouring the contact. "No, not this last death, the first one."

The hum that rumbled in his throat spoke to confusion, no doubt accompanied by fallen mandibles and drawn brow plates. Still, his hand never stopped caressing her hair, tucking the longer, ragged strands behind her ear, raking gently through the broom bristles. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For a moment, the familiar refusal raced up her throat and across her tongue, but at the last minute, she looked up and met that beautiful blue gaze. Damn. Just like that, she knew why she'd dreamed of Jon. "Yeah," she whispered, not sure if she'd still want to talk if she opened the wound too wide. "Yeah, I think so." The words felt strange and dangerous, an open door into an unknown landscape buried beneath the fog of war.

Garrus stood and backed up a step, holding out his hand. "Come on, we'll find somewhere quiet and let Radis sleep. I'm surprised you didn't wake him."

She stared at his hand for a few seconds, the dreaded unknown pressing over the threshold, creeping through the door, invading the familiar and trusted. Then she looked up, meeting his eyes, seeing in that field of bright, ice blue something she hadn't seen in a very long time. She lifted the heavy, grey blanket and sat up, careful to leave Radis undisturbed.

Garrus snatched a robe off the back of his chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You want your slippers? The clinic is cold."

Looking down at the cement floor, the grey expanse gleaming with a perpetually wet-looking sheen, she nodded. "Yeah, definitely." As much as she knew the floor owed its dampness to Mordin's obsession with cleanliness, she didn't want to feel even the slightest bit of Omega's clamminess on her toes.

Lowering himself onto one knee, Garrus looked up at her, mandibles fluttering in an adorably awkward smile. "Didn't you force me to watch a movie where the climax was some guy putting on a woman's slippers?"

"Some guy?" She scoffed, an impressively, almost turian chuff. "Prince Charming, thank you. Well, in that movie it was Prince Henry, and he wasn't all that charming, but still."

" _Will you take this ring and wear it as my promise to love you and take care of you for the rest of our lives?"_

Her turn to clear her throat, the sound coming out strangled as she tried to joke away the javelin that pierced her chest. "It was a very different sort of slipper, too. Don't worry, I'm the last one to go all damsel in distress waiting her her white knight to sweep her off her feet and make her a princess."

She slid down off the table and caressed the backs of her fingers along Garrus's mandible. He leaned into her touch, pulling a thready sigh through the strangle-hold on her throat. Surely Jon would understand if she broke her promise. Wouldn't he?

_Please, my love. Please understand. I thought I was dead. I thought we'd be together … I fought to get to you in heaven ... but if I'm alive … if I've got to finish this fucking war, please understand. I can't do it alone. I just can't. And I love him._

"Hey. You with me?" Garrus cleared his throat, mandibles flicking once. "You know this place better than I do. Where's the best, and by that I mean warmest, place to talk?"

Taking his hand, she led him toward the shower room. It had heaters, something she needed right then. The cold seeped into her unprotected wounds, digging in once it breached the surface to take root in her marrow. If she needed to face the monster—and just maybe she did—she couldn't do it with its teeth scraping along her bones.

And maybe, just maybe, with Garrus's hand warm and solid in hers, she could.

Once inside the door, she cranked the heat and closed her eyes, turning her face toward the infrared units mounted at the ceiling. "Mmmm, that feels good." After thirty seconds, she turned to look up into his eyes. "Last thing I remember is a massive krogan yanking me out of a ceiling vent and pulverizing me. What's happened since?"

Garrus tugged her toward the bench along the far wall. "Well, Butler convinced Nalah to take in the six children they can't find relatives for. He's busy shopping for a bigger apartment and she's trying to make it look as though it's all his decision, but she's making sweaters during her breaks when she thinks no one can see." He sat on the long bench and turned to face her. "Radis has done a good job of keeping me company while you recovered. Turns out, he's very tech savvy." He patted the seat next to him.

"So, how long?" Instead of sitting, she slipped her hand from his grip and paced to the far wall.

"Mordin spent fifteen hours putting you back together, then he kept you sedated for three days to let everything heal." He grinned, his mandible flick pulling her attention back to his face. "He must have taken lessons from Dr. Chakwas at some point because he's ruthless."

"Your friend, Sidonis? Did he make it through all right?" She stepped toward him, her stare never moving from his face. His eyes. Dammit. No wonder she dreamed of Jon. Why? Of all the beings in the galaxy, why did she have to fall in love with someone who possessed the same colour eyes as Jon?

Garrus took a deep breath, she saw his shoulders and chest rise with it, the almost-sigh announcing that her stalling time had reached its end. But instead of chastising her, he nodded. "He'll be fine. And now that we know what he told Garm and what he overheard in the base, we've got the intel we need to really squeeze all three of the gangs."

That said, he nodded toward the space next to him.

Her heart jumped. Yep, her stalling time was over.

"Shepard—" he started, his mandibles and brow plates dropping a little.

"Jane," she corrected, her voice so soft that it scarcely registered over the echoing ambient noise. When his brow plates lifted, she shrugged. "If we're going to have this conversation, you should probably call me Jane."

"Okay. Jane," he said before pausing to swallow, his mandibles flaring just a little before he pulled them back in, "if you don't want to tell me about the dream, I understand." He shrugged, but she saw joy, bright and warm, sparkle in his eyes.

No, she didn't want him to think that. She strode over and sat down beside him, her thigh pressed along his. "I want to tell you, it's just …." She stumbled over the explanation, floundering as the monster roared, warning her that letting anyone in just offered it an opening to steal another life.

He rested his arm across his thigh, hand palm up, an offering without pressure. She accepted, knitting her fingers with his, as he cocked a brow plate at her and said, "It's just?"

She took a deep breath in through her nose, the air finally warm enough that it didn't bite at her nostrils. Humidity pressed heavy, smelling of soap, antiseptic, and Omega: someone must have showered not too long ago. "I didn't dream about reapers or dying … well, not this last time, anyway." Squeezing his talons, she marvelled at the supple hide and muscle, letting the sensation of his strong digits anchor her.

'Any port in a storm,' her father always said, but she didn't like that comparison. Garrus would never be just  _any_  port. He meant far too much to her for that. He might just be  _the_  port. At that thought, her heart jumped again, thumping hard at the back side of her ribs, looking for a weak spot to make good its escape. Nope, far too early for thoughts like that one.

"I dreamed about Mindoir and my family." She burrowed into his side, needing his heat envelope. "I dreamed about the night Jane 'Bluejay' Shepard died and Commander Shepard was born."

Garrus wrapped an arm around her, just the softest contact until she leaned in, grateful as he pulled her closer, holding her tight.

"I wasn't there when my mother and father died," she said, leaning into Garrus's chest. "I didn't even hear about it until I woke up in the hospital. Matt made it through with a couple of extra holes." She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin. "But … the dream … the dream starts at the beginning …."


	20. Chapter Twenty - Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Home." Garrus hummed, nodding his head as he moved out of Jane's way. "I like the sound of that."

**Perir**  - Peririn plural. Male turian under the age of 15

**Puer**  - Puerin plural. Child.

**Torin**  - Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

**Tarc**  - Vulgar expletive equivalent to shit.

**Licisin**  - Equivalent of sons of bitches.

**Precorin**  - Damned. Cursed.

**Obluvis**  - plural  **Obluvi**. One who is senile or absent-minded. Slang: Idiot

**Chapter written by MosaicCreme with Shepard's parts done by MizDirected.**

Garrus hummed, mandibles fluttering as he watched Shepard— _no_ , not Shepard. Jane, she asked him to call her  _Jane_. His Jane.

_Spirits._

She sat on the edge of an empty cot, Radis pressed so close against her side, it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. Garrus flicked a mandible, wishing he could sit back and relax with Jane, too. But, he had things to do … and he might still be stalling while he figured out how to tell her that Liara had been the one to deliver her into the hands of Cerberus. As if feeling his gaze on her, and maybe she did, Jane looked up, meeting his gaze with a soft smile.

He grinned, still amazed she was actually there, alive and … okay, she could be doing better, but she was alive. His miracle Jane. He hummed again, with her looking at him, her pull was irresistible. Crossing the floor, he crouched in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. He let out a purr when she leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. Radis gave them a soft chirp, the sound of a  _puer_  asking for attention, and Garrus turned his head enough to look at the  _perir_. He flicked his mandibles, holding out an arm, and Radis moved closer, tucking himself under Garrus' arm, head sandwiched between him and Jane. She chuckled, pressing a palm to Garrus' face and ran the other one over the top of Radis crest.

After a minute or two of soaking up the love and warmth radiating off the pair, Garrus pulled back enough to meet Jane's gaze. "Hmm. I better go check on Sidonis. Then … maybe we can start seeing about getting some of your things moved, if you're feeling up to it."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, dodging the topic of moving.

It stung a little, but Garrus wasn't surprised. He knew she wanted to come stay with him at the base, but those caves were her safe spot, her sanctuary. Shaking his head, he squeezed her knee and pushed himself back to his feet. "No," he said, glancing sideways at Radis. "Sidonis can be …  _abrasive_ when he's injured. Better to let me deal with his foul mouth alone."

Jane chuckled, running her hand over Radis' crest again. "I have a feeling Radis heard far worse in the place I found him, but you're probably right. No point in damaging the  _perir's_ aural canals any further."

Radis glanced up at her, fluttering his mandibles, but he didn't say anything. Garrus smirked, leaning back down to press his mouth plates to the top of Jane's head before turning away. He stopped when her hand wrapped around his, glancing back at her. She just smiled and squeezed his talons before letting him go again, attention drifting back to the  _puer_  at her side.

Garrus made his way through the clinic, stopping outside of Sidonis' door to tap his knuckles against the metal. He waited until he heard a soft curse before Sidonis called out, telling him to come inside. Hitting the door's release, Garrus stepped back while the door slid open, taking a moment to sweep his gaze over the  _torin._ He'd damn near needed to tie Sidonis to the bed to convince him to stay put once he started feeling a little better. Garrus fluttered his mandibles, taking in the regen cast covering one of Sidonis' arms and the opposite leg.

Sidonis twitched his mandibles, giving Garrus an agitated look. " _Tarc_. Are you just going to stand out there staring at me all day?"

Garrus hummed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped through the doorway. "And what if I did? You're in no condition to do anything about it." He flicked a mandible, smirking at the  _torin_.

Sidonis chuffed, grumbling as he turned, trying to situate himself on the bed. Garrus walked over, trying to brace Sidonis' elbow to help him move, but he slapped Garrus' hand away. So, Garrus cuffed him, just a light swat to his uninjured shoulder and gave him a soft, warning growl.

"Fine." Sidonis let out a defeated sigh, letting Garrus help him. "Have you cleared out the base?"

"No, and I'm not going to." Garrus eased Sidonis back against the pillows before pulling up a chair and taking a seat. "That place is ours, we've put too much time and energy into fixing it up to let it go without a fight. Besides, what kind of message would it send to everyone else on Omega if Archangel packed it in and ran at the first sign of a threat."

"You know it's not that simple." Sidnois glared at him. "I told Garm everything! Everything! Spirits, I tried not to, tried to keep my mouth closed, but …."

"You're flesh and blood, Sidonis." Garrus crossed his arms over his keel. "Just like all the rest of us. Garm's men could've just as easily grabbed Melenis, or any one else, and gained the same intel."

Sidonis pulled his mandibles in tight against his face, a dread-filled whine escaping his throat. "I told him about Shepard."

Garrus froze, his mind running off in half a dozen directions as it raced to consider the implications. Of course Garm and every other person alive knew who Jane was, what she'd done to save the Citadel … how she died. Did it really matter if a handful of mercs on Omega knew she'd been brought back to life? Yeah. Yeah it did. Because she was  _Commander Shepard_ , and the news would spread like wildfire. Old enemies would start crawling out of the woodwork, as she called it, to try to strike at her in her weakened state.

_Tarc._

He let out a low growl, choking it off before Sidonis took it as a sign of aggression aimed at him. Garrus meant what he said, any one of them would've eventually given in under the kind of torture they put Sidonis through. He just didn't considered the fact Jane might be one of those bits of information Garm gathered. His every instinct told him to leave Omega, take Jane someplace secluded and safe, protect her from whatever harm might be coming her way, but he knew damn well when things got ugly, she'd insist on being right there in the thick of it. Spirits, she'd insist on leading the whole thing.

Garrus chuffed, pushing himself to his feet a little faster than he intended, and Sidonis flinched. His mandibles fell, heart sinking into the pit of his gizzard. A part of him wished Garm still lived, because after seeing what the  _licisi_ did to Sidonis …. "Just worry about getting better." He moved to the edge of the bed, resting a hand on the  _torin's_ shoulder. "I've got Weaver and Monteague looking into the mercs. If they're planning something, we'll know soon enough."

* * *

Garrus paced the hall outside of the office where they held Lawson. Admittedly, it surprised him more Cerberus thugs hadn't shown up yet to set the woman free. He shook his head, mandibles snapping in tight against his face.

_Lawson. Yet another problem to deal with. Spirits, it never ends._

"Garrus?"

Jane's voice caught him by surprise, he didn't even hear her approach, or catch her scent in the air. He turned, glancing down the hall to where she stood a few meters away, a worried look on her face. He forced himself to smile, holding his hand out to her. Frown easing, she closed the distance between them, slipping her hand into his.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowing with scrutiny. "What's wrong? Is Sidonis okay?"

He chuffed. "Sidonis is fine, or at least he will be."

"And what about  _her_?" she asked, nodding her head toward the office. "She have something new to say?"

Garrus shook his head. "I haven't been in there, yet."

"Then why are you out here trying to wear a hole through Mordin's floors?" She lifted one corner of her mouth, grip tightening on his talons as she swung his hand back and forth.

He sucked in a deep breath, bringing her hand up to press his mouth plates against the backs of her fingers. "Because … one of the things Sidonis passed on to Garm is the fact you're alive."

Jane's face paled, turning a shade or two whiter—he didn't even think it possible—but a second later, she set her face into the mask he'd grown used to seeing her wear. The one that said, 'I'm Commander Shepard, and if you give me any shit, I'll kick your ass.' He flicked a mandible and hummed, kissing the back of her hand again.

She let out a wry huff. "The entire universe is going to believe I'm alive before I even do."

Garrus cut off his distressed thrum, hopefully before it reached her ears, and brought her hand back down. He wanted to tell her everything would be alright, he'd make sure of it, but if losing her to the collectors taught him anything, it was how completely helpless he really was. Still, he'd die before losing her again.

"Well, Garm is dead … but that doesn't mean the news stopped with him." She furrowed her brow, making those fascinating little creases in the skin of her forehead. "Chances are, more of his men already know. Which means, by now, half of Omega does, too." Sucking in a slow breath, she met his gaze again. "And I'd say there's a pretty good chance that at least  _some_ of those people have already called someone else they know halfway across the galaxy to tell them the rumor."

He fluttered his mandibles. "Maybe everyone will just think it's exactly that, rumors."

"Maybe," she said, but her voice didn't carry any hint of conviction. "Hopefully the Council will."

Shifting his weight to his right leg, he leaned into the wall next to him. "I'm more concerned about all of the pissed off people you left behind." He swallowed, pulling in another deep breath. "If any of your old enemies catch wind of this, if they hear about the shape you're still in … hmmm. We might have mercs showing up at our doors any day now, too, ready to take out Archangel and the great Commander Shepard just for kicks while they're at it. We really need to get you moved; we'll all be safer together, watching each other's backs."

"We'll just have to take the fight to them." She let out a slow breath, her gaze steady on his and nodded. "Yeah, one solid front is the best idea."

He smiled, relief settling in cool and comforting around his cowl. "Good, so now that's settled," he said, glancing at the office door, "what do we do with her?"

"Shoot her?" Jane arched a red eyebrow, the gesture tugging at her glowing scars, but she didn't wince or groan.

Garrus chuffed, shaking his head. "Not that I don't like the sound of it, but I'm not sure it's the best idea. Right now, Lawson is the key to understanding what exactly Cerberus did to you when they brought you back, and maybe how to make you better."

Letting out a noncommittal grunt, she turned to face the office door. "If you're going in there, I'm going with you."

He lifted a brow plate. "You sure?" He squeezed her fingers. "You don't have to, you know. You don't ever have to see her if you don't want to."

"I've never been one for flinching away from staring the devil in the eye." She glanced back at him, a playful smirk crossing her face, but he saw a haunted look in her eyes. "Besides, I've got the great Archangel at my back."

He chuffed, tugging on her hand to pull her back to him when she started towards the door. "Wait." Humming, he glanced at his feet for a second, making sure his courage didn't slip out through his toes and run off on him. "There's something more I need to tell you, and it's best you hear it before we go in there."

She stopped, turning back to face him fully and took his other hand, too. "What is it?"

"I talked to some of the old crew while you were sedated." He swallowed, meeting her gaze again. "Wrex, Tali … and Liara." He chuffed, giving her a light, baffled shake of his head. "Jane, Liara said—Spirits—Liara is the one who gave you to Cerberus. She said they swore they could bring you back, and she couldn't turn down the chance to have you alive again."

Jaw clenching, her fingers twitched against his palms. "Liara?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Garrus hummed, moving a little closer to her, but leaving it up to her on whether or not she wanted to step into his embrace. "I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't have any idea this was going on. I would've …  _tarc_ , I don't know what I would've done."

She took a couple of steps closer, but she stopped. She left more distance between the two of them than he'd prefer, but he understood.

"Hmm. If it helps at all, Tali's ecstatic to hear you're alive. She wants to come to Omega, but I told her I didn't think you'd be up for visitors just yet." He flicked a mandible, knowing he kept talking for his own sake more than hers. "And Wrex wants me to patch you up and send you to Tuchanka to go hunting."

"Nothing says welcome back like dodging thresher maw acid," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice as she rolled her eyes but still grinned.

He chuckled, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. "Throw in a few rampaging klixen, and it sounds like the perfect date." He tugged at her hand a little. "So … still ready to go stare the devil in the eye?"

"I'd rather jab her in the eye." Jane turned back towards the door.

He laughed, squeezing her hand as he followed her. "I suppose she'd still be useful with only one eye."

She held back at the door, glancing up at him, so he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Jane moved in behind him, nearly pressed against his back when Lawson turned in her chair to look at them.

Lawson's eyes grew wide, the smug smirk on her face vanishing. "Commander …." She pushed up from her chair, not even making it all the way to standing before Garrus growled at her.

"No." He took a step forward, putting himself further between the woman and Jane. "You don't get to talk to her unless she speaks to you first."

Lawson blinked but didn't back down, cocking her hip to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. "Is this really necessary? Haven't I already proven I mean her no harm? I bloody brought her back to life, what more proof do you really need?"

Jane bristled, stepping out from behind Garrus just enough to look the operative in the eyes. "You didn't mean any harm? Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Cerberus. You didn't bring me back out of charity. I was a science project, and all you cared about was getting an A, no matter what hell you put your guinea pig through."

Lawson raised a challenging eyebrow at Garrus before turning her attention back to Jane. "Don't be ridiculous. You were handpicked by the Illusive Man long before the collectors ever took down the  _Normandy_."

Jane stepped around Garrus, all edges and spines. "Of course, he handpicked me from the thousands of eager human Spectres standing in line just squealing to have his hand shoved up their ass." She scoffed, the sound wet, like she intended to spit in Lawson's face. "Dance, little Spectre, dance."

Lawson rolled her eyes. "You act as if we didn't intend to ask for your cooperation in stopping the collectors before the  _Normandy_  was attacked.  _We_ aren't the ones who killed you. We're the ones who  _saved_ you. What you did in your fight against Saren, stopping Sovereign from taking over the Citadel ... humanity needs you, Commander." She sniffed, shifting her weight to her other hip. "You. Commander Shepard. Humanity's bloody icon. When we learned you went down with your ship, we fought tooth and nail to find you. If it were just a matter of testing the boundaries of science, any corpse would've worked just as well." Lawson scoffed, glaring at Garrus when he let out another growl. "It's unfortunate you woke up as early as you did, and I regret the obvious pain you're in now. You weren't ready to be awake yet, you still need more work."

Jane charged in, grabbing Lawson by the collar, snarling in the other woman's face as she lifted Lawson right off her feet. "Regret? At least now I can take something to control the pain instead of screaming, trapped inside my skull, every moment a cyclone of pain and terror."

Garrus flared his mandibles, dropping his arms down to his sides. Her strength surprised him, but more importantly, if ever he held a single doubt about Jane still being  _the_ Commander Shepard, the fiery ball of righteous rage in front of him washed it right down the drain. But Spirits, it twisted his insides into knots to think she'd been awake through all of Cerberus' reconstruction.

Lawson's hands covered Jane's, indignation and, oh yes, a hint of fear in the operative's eyes. "No," she said, trying to pry Jane's fingers loose. "That's not possible. All the readings—"

Jane shook the woman like varren fighting over a day old kill. "Not possible? Like my knowing that Wilson argued for giving me painkillers, but that would have set back your bottom line? Don't try to pretend you saw me as anything more than meat on a slab, you'll be wasting your breath."

Lawson squirmed, her face starting to turn red. "Wilson." She squirmed again, trying to suck in a deeper breath. "Wilson was trying to kill you, on the Shadow Broker's orders." She gasped, coughing as her too-tight, leather suit cut into her, bunched in Jane's hand. "Bloody hell, put me down."

Garrus shifted, moving up behind Jane, afraid she might actually kill Lawson. "The Shadow Broker?" He chuffed when Lawson made a show of gasping for air again. "She's no good to us dead." He lightly rested a hand on Jane's shoulder.

Jane opened her hand, letting the Cerberus  _peutri_ fall to the floor in a heap of black hair and leather. He gave Jane a soft purr as she moved back behind him. Lawson pressed her palms into the floor, pushing herself up and looked at what little of Jane she could see. Garrus crossed his arms over his chest, more than happy to be the thing standing between Jane and the embodiment of her nightmares. Well … some of her nightmares, Cerberus certainly didn't own a monopoly on the things haunting Jane's dreams.

"The Shadow Broker wanted Shepard," Lawson said, turning her attention back to him. "His mercs were after her, too. He planned to trade her to the collectors."

He growled, not at Lawson, but he didn't give a damn if she thought he directed it at her or not. "Why would the collectors want Shepard's … body?"

"I don't have a clue." Lawson glanced back at the floor, pushing herself further up and climbed to her feet, brushing non-existent specks of dirt from her clothing and hands. "I didn't realize … her readings were all still within normal ranges considering her condition." Lawson's gaze darted to Jane before returning to Garrus. "Had I known … I would have made sure she was properly sedated."

He smelled the anxiety rolling off of Jane, and he knew he needed to get her out of there and her attention re-focused on something peaceful—Radis, probably—before she started hitting herself in the head again. Whether or not Lawson spoke the truth, he had no intentions of letting her see the true extent of the damage she'd done to Jane. He turned, putting his hand on her shoulder, guiding her back towards the door.

"What do you plan to do with me?" Lawson asked.

Garrus fluttered his mandibles, glancing back over his shoulder. "I don't know yet."

"I can help her." Her gaze shifted, trying to catch sight of Jane, it seemed. "Commander! I can fix this!"

Jane stopped and sucked in a deep breath, bracing her shoulders like a sea wall bracing for the tide. "I trust Mordin. I'll leave it to him if he wants to accept your help, but under no circumstances will you lay a finger on me. If you help, you do so at the end of a very sharp ten-foot-pole, lady."

Lawson seemed to relax, her gaze drifting between Jane and Garrus. "Very well. I can accept that."

Garrus chuffed, as if she had a choice. Hand still on Jane's shoulder, he urged her to the door. "Come on, we have a little  _puer_  waiting for you to go tuck him back into bed."

Once out in the hall again, the door safely closed behind her, Jane relaxed beneath his palm. "And people wonder why I hide in an abandoned mine with goats for friends."

* * *

Garrus hummed, standing in the cavernous room Jane had called home since escaping Cerberus. Even through the dampness, her scent surrounded him, soaked into the asteroid itself. He hated knowing she'd been so close for so long, and he didn't even know. Hated her living away in the darkness, alone. He glanced at her, watching her take her time sorting through the papers scattered throughout the room. Butler's voice echoed back to him, childlike coos as the human attempted to corral Jane's very-pregnant goats. A moment later, Ripper's frustrated growls reached Garrus' aural canals, too. Apparently, the krogan wasn't having an easy time of catching the baby thresher maw in her gardens.

Garrus chuckled, picking up a M-76 Revenant. What in the universe Jane planned to do with a weapon its size, he didn't know, but somehow, it didn't surprise him to find it there in the mix of her pilfered weapons cache. He nestled it down into one of the packing crates Zullius had on hand, and he glanced at her again. "So … what's your plan to get Sookie back? I know you've been thinking about it."

Jane shrugged, still sorting through the drawings of reapers surrounded by fire. She'd started to make two piles, one a lot smaller than the other, but he didn't ask what they were for. "Haven't really had time for big plans. I'm going to need her back, though. Took me forever to break her in, balance her mods just right."

"Hmm. We'll get her back. Even if I have to kiss Aria's ass … or shoot her." Filling the crate with as many weapons as he could cram inside without damaging any of them, he snapped the lid in place and shoved the crate aside, pulling over another.

"Not to sound overly violent, but I say shoot her."

Garrus flared his mandibles, glancing over at her again. "I think you might've lost your penchant for diplomacy." He smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. Diplomacy doesn't get you far on Omega."

"So I've learned." She sighed. "Bah, I'm just cranky. Ignore all my advice until I've slept."

He pushed himself up from the ground and crossed the floor to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. Reaching out, he ran his talons through the hair just over her ear. "So lay down. The others and I can handle getting everything packed up. I'll wake you up before we start moving anything."

Grunting, she set her jaw, giving him a jerk of her head in refusal and continued to sort her drawings. Garrus sighed, mentally kicking himself for even suggesting it. He should've known she wouldn't dare, especially with other people around, going through her stuff. Humming he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers before returning to his work of packing her weapons into crates.

It didn't take them long, all goats and thresher maw considered, to get everything Jane owned packed away into crates. There really wasn't much, and most of what she did have were guns and armor. Halfway through packing those, Jane had given up on sorting through her drawings and tossed them all into a box containing odds and ends before going to check on her goats, leaving Garrus to finish the job in silence. Not that she'd been much for conversation either way.

Zullius had offered one of his delivery vans, and between Garrus, Ripper, and Butler, they got the goats' crates loaded inside under Jane's guidance. The smaller crates were wedged in wherever they'd fit, and the little crate filled with this hissing sounds of one very pissed off baby thresher maw strapped in on top. Garrus made a mental note to call Wrex and tell him to expect a special delivery, otherwise the krogan might think Jane meant to play some sort of joke and kill the  _precorin_  thing, maybe toss it into the varren fighting pits.

Jane leaned against the van's door, sitting in silence, her gaze distant the entire trip from the mines to his base of operations. He hoped she wasn't reconsidering the move, though he suspected she just had a lot on her mind, learning Garm's men knew she was alive, hearing about Liara's … betrayal—was it really a betrayal?—and then dealing with the  _tarc_ coming out of the Lawson woman's mouth. She shifted, blinking a few times as the van settled down behind the back entrance to the base. Garrus gave her a smile before hopping out of the van. Moving around to the other side to open the door for her, he offered her his hand to help her down.

Giving him a crooked smile, she slipped her hand into his, pitching her voice a little higher, sounding light and airy as she said, "Why thank you for your help, good sir."

Garrus flicked his mandible, making a show out of bowing over her hand before letting her go. Meeting her gaze again, he smiled, more than a little giddy to actually have her there, her things moved. "So …. Ah, hmm. There's … several rooms you can choose from, but only one besides mine is really private, the females of the team usually sleep in there when they're on overnight duty. I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing, or I can have them move out since they have actual homes to go to. Or …." He chuffed, shaking his head at himself. "Or you can share my room. Just, hmmm, just tell me where to put your things."

Jane shuffled, her eyes fixed on the floor. "I … I'd like … but Radis …." She glanced up, almost meeting his stare. "He'll want to stay close to me …."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles, unsure of really what to say. He wanted her to share a room with him, even if it meant sharing a room with the  _perir_ , too. For the time being, anyway. He shifted a little, glancing at the incoming skycar—Butler and Ripper—before turning his gaze back to Jane. "Hmmm. Well, wherever you choose, there'll be plenty of room for him, too. He won't have to sleep separate from you, if you don't want him to." He swallowed, putting a little space between the two of the, giving her time to think through things without him staring at her like an  _obluvis_. He opened the van's door, dragging out one of the crates wedged between the goats, keeping them locked in place and moved it to the floor.

By the time the skycar settled down and the doors opened, Jane still hadn't said anything else. Garrus' heart sank. She moved over to the back of the van, pulling out her 'trinket box', as she called it, and made her way through the back doors, into the base. He fluttered his mandibles, dragging out another crate of her weapons and hoisted it up on his shoulder, following after her.

Jane walked up the stairs, turning straight for his private quarters, and Garrus grinned at her back. She opened the door to his room and walked right inside, stopping to glance around before taking her box over to his desk and set it down. Garrus eased the crate down to the floor next to the desk. He hoped she'd look at him, he wanted to see what she held in her eyes, but she kept her gaze down. Moving past him, she left the room again. Garrus let out a soft sigh and followed her as she made her way down the stairs, back out to the waiting van.

It took them longer to get things unloaded, somehow, than it took to get everything into the van in the first place. As soon as the goats were out of the van, Jane led them over to the pens Butler built for her while she lay unconscious at Dr. Solus' clinic. Garrus smirked, leaving her to her animals, figuring they'd probably be able to ease whatever tension she carried around, since he obviously failed to help.

Garrus focused on carrying the crates stuffed full of guns, ammo, and armor upstairs. He'd help her sort it all out again when she felt ready. There was plenty of space in his quarters—no,  _their_  quarters—for her to decorate the entire room in weapons racks if she wanted to. Of course, they'd have to make sure Radis understood the guns weren't toys. Spirits … did the  _perir_  even own anything of his own? Garrus hummed. It didn't matter, they'd make sure he had everything he needed.

Once the van was completely unloaded, Garrus made his way over to the goat pens, stopping to lean over the railing. "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her. He smiled when she looked up at him. "Everything's upstairs. I thought we could take the van back to Zullius, and then go get Radis."

Jane took a long breath and smiled as she met his gaze. "That sounds good." She focused on stroking Splash's coat, her fingers following the whorls in the hair. "My father used to say that animals made the best judges of character. He believed they knew how to live simply and honestly … in tune with God."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles, holding his hand out to Coco when the dark brown and white goat waddled over to him, sniffing at him through the pen. He glanced back at Jane, finding her looking at him, something hopeful in her eyes. He hummed, happy to see her relaxing a little again. He didn't really know much about her God, and even less about her father, but he did see a certain purity to animals, they didn't have the capacity for some of the evils he'd seen in the galaxy. Maybe that was why she found so much peace with them. He chuffed when Coco latched on to the tip of his talon, tugging at his glove. He pulled his hand away from the goat's mouth, moving it to scratch behind Coco's ear instead, they both seemed to like it the last time he saw them. The goat bumped her head against his hand a few times, turning to offer him a new spot to scratch, and so he did.

* * *

Garrus leaned against the doorframe of Dr. Solus' office looking at the salarian scientist tucked away behind his desk. He shrugged. "She told Lawson it's up to you whether or not she helps, but it has to be at a distance. 'At the end of a sharpened ten-foot-pole,' she said. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but either way, I guess it's up to you."

"Could explain human idiom, but don't have time. Suggest extranet search." Dr. Solus pushed away from the desk, carrying a datapad and a small bag over to hand to Garrus. "Have prepared instructions for Radis treatment—and L'oeuf's. Must follow directions carefully. Return if any problems, concerns. Will take care of Lawson." He made a shooing gesture with his hands. "Have other patients to attend to."

Garrus chuffed, stuffing the datapad and the bag under his arm before leaving the doctor's office. It only took him a few seconds to find Jane and Radis, sitting on the bed they'd been sharing. Garrus leaned against the door, smiling as he watched the two of them.

Jane reached up, stroking the youngster's crest. "How are you feeling? Ready to break out of this place?" When Radis merely shrugged, she wrapped a gentle arm around him. "The big guy offered to let us crash with him. What do you think?"

The  _puer_  looked up at her, mandibles lowered. "I can come with you?"

"Of course. If you want to." Garrus hummed, stepping a little further into the room. "We'd love to have you there with us."

Jane smiled and hugged Radis against her side. "See? So, what do you think?"

The  _perir_ nodded, a timid smile barely forming before it disappeared. "Okay."

She hopped down, then reached out to help Radis, the  _puer_  still trapped inside a clumsy regen cage. "Well then, let's get out of here and head home."

"Home." Garrus hummed, nodding his head as he moved out of Jane's way. "I like the sound of that."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: Vorcha Bile and Cherry Tomatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew she was safe, despite the roar of searing white cracking open the dark horizon. Safe. Garrus kept her safe. Being alive kept her safe. Safe meant sane, and she needed to stay sane for Radis. She jumped, lightning licking down her spine, every centimetre of her screaming as the thunder locked her muscles tight.
> 
> Stay sane. You need to stay sane. Daddy, help me. Please, please help me.

**Written by MizDirected with Garrus's parts thanks to MosaicCreme**

**Torin**  - Male turian over the age of majority. (15)

 **Puer**  - Child

Thunder roared, lightning dancing along the horizon, the storm threatening to send her calm seas back into chaos. She wriggled deeper into the soft warmth of the straw, allowing the goats' shuffling and Radis's timid sounds of surprise and delight to tie her to the base.

She knew she was safe, despite the roar of searing white cracking open the dark horizon. Safe. Garrus kept her safe. Being alive kept her safe. Safe meant sane, and she needed to stay sane for Radis. She jumped, lightning licking down her spine, every centimetre of her screaming as the thunder locked her muscles tight.

 _Stay sane. You need to stay sane. Daddy, help me. Please, please help me_.

She reached into her belt pouch, searching. The lightning blasted through her nervous system again. She counted ... shuddering. One … two …. Thunder. Damn, the storm closed in, looming so close … so damned close. She needed to get to shelter, but …. No, she needed to get Radis to shelter. She couldn't let him watch her freak out. Life scared him enough … he'd been traumatized enough.

Her fingertips found their prize and its thin, onion-skin pages. Taking a deep breath, she caressed the unique paper that reminded her so very much of her father.

She loved her father's bible. Before the batarians blew her childhood apart, she spent hours just touching the pages, savouring their texture: thin and magical, crisp and crackling. Nothing else felt like that paper, as if someone crafted it just for bibles in order to set them apart, make them sacred in a very tactile way.

She found a tiny version of the New Testament in the belt pouch of one of the first mercs she killed on Omega. After opening it to the page marked by the ribbon sewn into the leather binding, she ran her fingers over the paper, a lifetime's worth of memories roaring to life in her head at the gentle crinkle of the thin pages. Slapping it shut, she'd stuffed it into her belt pouch, where it remained.

Despite closing the bible, the marked page glared up at her from behind her eyes. First John, verse 3:12 pointed damning lightning bolts at her. ' _Do not be like Cain who belonged to the evil one and murdered his brother.'_ And then, of course, Matthew just had to chime in with 26:52: '" _Put your sword back in its place," Jesus said to him, "for all who draw the sword will die by the sword."'_

She hadn't just died by the sword and been consumed in fire, she'd considered her time in purgatory an excuse to throw away the sheath and beat the shit out of the galaxy with her naked blade. She'd incinerated, degraded, and displayed her monstrosity for everyone to see.

One hand moved to undo her belt pouch, fingertips climbing inside to rub that sweet texture. She needed to borrow … to draw some salvation from the pages. Taking it out, she pressed the red leather against her head.

 _Those who live by the sword, die by the sword._  She pressed harder, twisting the tiny Bible, its leather cover burning her forehead. No, no, she hadn't died, and she'd spent her entire life trying to make up for the lives she stole on Torfan.

_Isn't that worse? You didn't die in the void or the fire and ice, so these past months you've turned into a murderer so much worse than The Butcher … even on her worst day._

She ground the cover in harder. Thump. "No," she whispered, barely more than a hiss as they broke through her lips. "No, I saved a lot of people. I saved all those kids." Twist. Thump. Her teeth clacked together on the side of her tongue. She wasn't Cain. She killed only those who threatened others with harm. Those bastards who used and tortured Radis and the other children wouldn't have given up without a fight, killing several kids in the process.

The spot on her forehead turned from burning to cool. And even if the pricks gave up, there was no law on Omega, they'd just run and set up somewhere else, or Aria would find a way to use them.

 _Right. But even if I give you that one, did you need to make_ art brut de spectacle  _out of their bodies? It's twisted, and you loved it … turning all your pain against something outside yourself. You are sick right down to the core, your heart rotted and empty_.

Thump. Twist. "No. Garrus sees me. He loves me. He's real." Thump. Twist. "He wants me to be with him … to live with him." Why? After improving for so long ... why this? Again.

She squeezed her eyes closed. Darkness flooded in, riding the tsunami of the monster's roar. Evil flame licked from every seam and hollow.  _No. No, no, no, no_. Thump. Twist. The monster hadn't appeared in days. Garrus drove it off with his light and warmth. No. Thump. Twist. It couldn't come back. He and Radis banished it. A scream roared up from her belly, fighting its way through the spasming muscles of her throat to ball behind her teeth.

Something soft and cool stopped the book just short of her head, then gently peeled the book from her hand. She opened her eyes as a thumb pad wiped at the angry spot on her brow. The monster remained seared into her vision. She threw herself back, scrambling across the straw-covered polycrete.

"No, the monster isn't real. The flames aren't real." She slammed the heel of her hand into her brow, trying to drive the horror back even while it roared, deafening her. "Garrus is real. Garrus is real." A bladed scream, raw and bleeding, clambered up her throat, fighting its way out, but she walled it up behind her teeth. No, she was alive. She was alive and needed to be sane for Garrus and Radis. She needed to forget about the fear and pain. She needed to forget about purgatory and murdering her way into heaven.

Footsteps shuffling through the straw pushed the monster back enough that its image began to fade, replaced by copper eyes, their watery depths awash with fear and compassion. "L'oeuf?" The turian child crouched before her. "I'm real."

The words tugged a soft whimper from between her lips, the scream buried in sorrow. A trembling hand reached out to caress the child's cheek. His hide brushed the backs of her fingers, his plates still soft, his skin not yet tough and textured. Holding his stare, she opened her mouth, trying to speak, trying to form words to reassure him. Instead, she pulled her hand from his.

Thump.

She reached into her belt pouch, but no sacred pages met her fingertips. Heart racing, she tore the pouch open, searching the lint and scraps at the bottom. Where?

Thump. Twist.

Where? Had she lost it? No. No, no, no. She couldn't lose it. Not after she so carefully cleaned off the thick layer of vorcha bile—they spewed it in their death throes to drive their attackers back long enough to regenerate.

Tiny, trembling talons touched her face then spirited away.

Radis.

Damn her insanity! She sucked in a loud breath that rattled through her head and down into her chest. Why? Why had she thought she could care for Radis? She was so stupid. Thump. All she could do was traumatize a soul already past its capacity for suffering.

She touched his hand then scrambled into a crouch, backing away from him even as the fear and uncertainty in his eyes begged her to close the distance, comfort him. No. Not yet. Not until she wrestled herself back under control.

"Jane?" A maelstrom of Garrus's sound and scent rushed towards the goat pen. His booted talons screeched a little when she flinched away, and he brought the turian landslide to a halt. He pulled in a long breath, then closed the remaining distance to half with measured steps. When he spoke, his dual tones rumbled soft and low, trading fear and concern for comfort in his tone. "Jane, what's wrong?"

She pushed herself further into the corner, hands raising to fend off the sudden tempest of motion and noise. Too much. Too much around her. Too much above. So much noise from the base: voices and laughter, footsteps and thumping. So much life. Too much. The monster roared, its flames licking … mocking laughter scalding her touch.  _What was she thinking_ , it asked. Was she really trying to join the living?

Thump, twist. The heel of her hand startled her as it impacted her brow. Thump, twist.

_Get control! You're scaring the shit out of both Radis and Garrus now. Get. Control._

Using the equivalent force of bending a length of rebar, she forced her hands down, not all the way to her thighs, but far enough she'd have to think before striking out. The muscles complained, crying out as her brain exerted control over them. Spurred on by her success, she opened her eyes and smoothed the silent scream off her lips.

 _Fake it 'til you make it_. How many times had someone told her that over the course of her life? Hell, the number climbed over fifty inside her first week of bootcamp.

Garrus kept his distance, although she felt a soft, soothing thrum rumbling through him, the sound resonating through the air. Worry filled the soft blue of his gaze. He reached out, but for Radis, waving the child over and tucking him in beneath an arm. Her lips stopped fighting to return to their terrified rigor. Thank God. Garrus would keep her from hurting the little guy.

A sigh drifted from between slack lips as the storm drew back enough for her hands to settle to her lap. The image of Radis staring at her from behind armour registered, his eyes huge and nervous. Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. She needed to beat the crazy down before she damaged the kid worse than those fucking criminals had.

The maelstrom calmed further as the wall of armour—finally registering the unique blue of Garrus's set—stepped back, Radis still tucked in against the turian's leg. His words drifted through the haze of ancient fear, helping her push away the thunder. "It's all right, Radis. She just needs a moment to collect herself." He took another step back before crouching. "Jane, I'm here. Radis is here. You're safe."

"She's afraid?" Radis asked, stepping out from behind Garrus to press against the  _torin's_  side. He crouched alongside Garrus's thigh, his unintentional mimicry so adorable it drew a soft moan from deep in her throat.

Archangel's mandibles fluttered as he looked down at the  _perir_. "Yeah, she's scared, but she'll be alright. Then, she'll be so happy to see you, but right now, she just needs a little space."

And just like that, Garrus's words drove off the clouds, the storm evaporating into clear, star-lit skies, and she could breathe. She stood, taking a single step forward, testing the sudden clarity, but not trusting it. After another, she gave Radis a watered down smile. "I'm fine, baby, just a little shaky."

Encouraged by the child's return smile, she met Garrus's gaze. "Can you and maybe Butler help Radis get settled in for a bit?" she asked, skirting the pair of them just inside an arm's length.

Garrus hummed, giving her a short jerk of his head in a nod, mandibles fluttering. "Of course, anything you need." He lifted a hand as she passed then seemed to think better of it. Before it fell back to his side, she grasped it and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go.

"I'll give you a call in a little while." She ducked past them, keeping to a walk until she made it out the door and into the tunnel across the room.

Once she felt the lack of eyes on her, she broke into a run, something deep in her gut pulling her along a path she didn't register until she stood outside the door to one of Mordin's back rooms. As she stared at the metal portal, her plan came together, the reason she'd homed in on that office appearing in full.

She pressed her palm to the control, her eyes fixing on Miranda Lawson the moment the door opened. After a couple of moments spent staring at one another, she took a deep breath and stepped far enough into the room that the door shut behind her.

"I need you to fix me." A couple of follow up conditions and constraints appeared but she let them wash away without letting them out. It came down to just those six words. For her. For Radis. For Garrus. Just those six, no ifs, ands, or buts. She clenched her fists at her sides and shoved her shoulders down out of a depreciative shrug. Commander Shepard didn't flinch or cower. She stated her intent with clarity and then moved forward, for better or for worse. She acted.

"I need you to fix me." That time the words came out formed and shaped as intent rather than a plea. Not quite Shepard, but that seemed fitting. Only about seventy-five percent of Shepard existed physically, why should her mind and spirit be any different?

Lawson shifted in her chair, straightening, but her face remained neutral, none of her usual arrogant distance setting it in stone. The woman nodded, her stare flicking to the floor before latching back on Shepard's. "I'll do everything I can to help." Another deflective flicker touched the floor and then the far wall before genuine remorse locked onto the ghost of Commander Shepard. "If I'd known you suffered during the Lazarus Project, I would have mitigated the pain. I won't allow that to happen again."

The ghost nodded. "I trust Mordin and Daniel to see to my well being. I trust Garrus to see to my safety. You, I trust to complete the repairs you began. I need sanity." She swallowed and turned just far enough to stride to the desk, leaning against her fists, the edge cutting into her knuckles. "I need for my brain to stop shorting out and sending me spiralling into psychosis every time something scares me or upsets me. I need to find Commander Shepard inside this pile of compost and rot. So … " She gulped. "... so if there's pain, I'll deal with it."

Lawson shifted, her shoulders squaring as she affected a posture professional enough to convince Shepard's ghost. The real Shepard … she might not have been convinced, but since the commander remained on the other side of the collector attack, she'd have to rely on her own, spotty, judgement. She straightened and turned to face Lawson.

_Fake it 'til you make it._

"Tomorrow we'll run a complete set of scans." Lawson opened her omnitool and began entering notes. "While your poor physical health concerns me, we'll prioritize balancing your mental and emotional wellbeing." She looked up, meeting the ghost's eyes with what almost managed to tip over the line into heartfelt caring. "I still retain access to all my data and Dr. Solus is a talented surgeon. Between us, we'll get Commander Shepard back to one hundred percent."

The ghost backed up a step, startled. Did Lawson also retain access to her thoughts? How did she know how much of Shepard remained? How did she know? The ghost retreated behind L'oeuf, her hand reaching behind her to claw along the metal for the control. If Lawson could read her mind …. No, she just needed to get away and calm down, prepare for the following day. Lawson just meant the percentage in a general sense. Of course she did. No cause to have a breakdown and start slapping herself in the head. Of course she did. Of course. No need to worry.

The door control activated, dumping her out into the hallway. She stumbled, hand slapping along the wall until it contacted a bank of seats, saving her from an awkward fall. Straightening, she glanced around, grateful that the clinic was empty. Of course it was; it must be getting late. She should go back to Archangel base, be social for a little before she and Garrus sorted the awkward who sleeps where issue.

She started moving, her legs carrying her out of the clinic and into the familiar, claustrophobic stench of Omega's tunnels. She'd go back to the base as soon as she'd worked off some of the crazy. As much as she knew Garrus would never turn his back on her, crazy or no, she wanted to realize the picture she'd held in her head pretty much from the moment she met him. No batnuts whacko drooling on his shoulder. She shuddered.

No. Partners. Equal … taking care of one another, not Garrus acting as nursemaid to his pathetic lover.

God, no, she'd rather shoot herself in the head. Leaving a pretty corpse amounted to a washout anyway; she didn't have a pretty patch of skin on her. Nope, she needed to make it quick, but most importantly, make it so they couldn't bring her back. Ever. One massive round to the brainpan. Squish. Splat. No head to bother propping up with a VI driver.

She recognized the relative cleanliness of the air before she recognized the walls of the near-black cavern. Sniffing the air, she activated the light on her armour. Hell, other than the faint holdover of goat and wood shavings, Eau D'Toilette Avec Eezo Mine had reclaimed the space.

Why did she head straight for the mines? Garrus and the base were home. She activated her omnitool to check the time. 2218 EST. Earth Standard. As if that meant anything on Omega. Hell, the station didn't really conform to any standard measure of time. Maybe its denizens considered themselves above or outside the bounds of such petty concerns. Omega ran full throttle at all hours. Still, for her, the time grew late … past her bedtime even. And someone enticing awaited her.

Garrus … or Archangel, aka Post-Shepard's-Death Garrus. Huh, she hadn't thought about it like that before. Archangel lived in her purgatory, a figment of her tortured mind, while Garrus belonged to the living, the  _torin's_  true self. Due to her rapid acceptance of her alive status, that rendered both Garrusi—an acceptable plural form of Garrus—real. Since she saw differences between pre and post Alchera Garrus, something happened to change him. That just amounted to logic. Did he owe his differences to her death?

God, a person could go for-real-raving-starkers thinking about that sort of shit.

She headed toward her garden, stepping around the gate. The metal and wire frame leaned back against the cavern wall, discarded in Ripper's rush to crate the juvenile thresher. It felt odd to enter the gate without a chunk of meat in one hand and a bucket in the other. Without Harold, she might actually enjoy the vegetables and flowers for the first time. She'd been surprised how far a baby thresher maw could spit, and how virulent its acid was. An entire pile of hole-riddled buckets sat at the bottom of the drop off. Perhaps she should have been prepared for the complications of fostering a baby maw; most predators had good reason for not going after a juvenile maw once it reached the two metre mark.

_Do the reapers avoid them? After all, millions of years of reaper harvests and yet the threshers remain despite the threat. I need to discuss this with Garrus and Wrex._

The ghost walked between a row of carrots and a row of peas, a smile greeting the pristine lines of undamaged plants. Despite the frustrated roars and cussing going on while Ripper chased Harold around the large cavern, the krogan had taken an insane amount of care to avoid trampling her vegetables. Her smile widened when she noticed the bare tomato vines. Apparently, maw chasing made for hungry work. Who would have guessed at a krogan love of cherry tomatoes?

Stepping carefully in the low light—the gold halide lamps functioned on timers to trick her garden into believing itself attached to a planet rather than hanging, rootless, in space—she weaved her way through the rows to the flowers. Snapdragons and three varieties of lilies feeding her soul as much as the vegetables fed her body. She sat in their midst and peeled off her gloves, gentle palms caressing the velvety leaves and closed buds, savouring the muted pulse and whisper of the life trickling through their veins.

Dear spirits. A crooked grin tweaked the corner of her mouth. She'd started using that expletive near the end of the chase ….

Dear spirits, life poured through everything, tumbling and crashing over the rocks, wearing away the stone. Everything. Perhaps …? Naked fingertips pressed into the hollow beneath her jaw, greeted by the same uneven pulse that she felt beneath her breastbone every moment: five to ten weak, rapid beats followed by a pause then one huge, heavy beat before her heart settled back into its duty for another handful of thumps. If that didn't speak volumes, she didn't know what did. Even her heart didn't know whether to settle into life or surrender to death.

Except around Garrus. And Radis. Funny that the saying for falling in love or being struck by love was having one's heart skip a beat. Only love kept hers beating steady and true.

Nothing else possessed the power to stand her in place, surrendering to the hands and knives of what the rachni queen called the needlemen in the dark terror of Feros.

She needed to get back. Although she felt sure Garrus knew she'd return, she'd been gone long enough to set off his worry-o-meter. Maybe in the next couple of days, some of Archangel's people would return with her to salvage her garden. The space at the bottom of the stairs from the common room would provide a lovely place for Garrus's warriors to rest and recoup.

And if she found some extra sanity there, more the better.

* * *

The bastion of the Archangel base rose above her, silent despite the suspicious eyes witnessing her approach. She nodded to the asari perched on the second floor balcony, but it felt wrong to break the peace with words. Omega did not abide peace for long. It spoke volumes about Garrus's good work that he'd wrestled a measure of it from the chaos.

Lights burned low, providing just enough illumination to make her way through the common room and up the stairs. She hesitated at the door to Garrus's room, her hand warm and tingling as it hovered above the control. It glowed red, but she knew it would open to her touch. Garrus remained far too vigilant about such things to accidentally lock her out.

Still, she hesitated, her feet growing roots down into the station floor. Why? They slept side by side in Mordin's clinic, Garrus's head on her pillow, his breath warming her cheek. Not to mention all the nights she spent on the  _Normandy_ , staring at the ceiling in the captain's quarters, the bed like stone against her tailbone and shoulder blades? Those nights she'd wished for the courage to tell the  _torin_  how she felt, to encourage him to make his way to her door after gamma shift settled in for the night.

And now, Garrus waited for her inside that room, waited in a bed that had to be softer than either the one on the  _Normandy_  or her cot in the mines, and she stood outside the door, waffling like a coward.

"It won't bite." The whisper spirited through the air too softly to startle her. When she turned, the young human, Weaver, smiled and shrugged. "Just on my way to relieve Melenis. Thought I'd check on the two cuties downstairs before I do. Never knew goats were so frickin' adorable. I can't wait to see their babies." She trotted down the stairs, but then stopped at the bottom and looked back. "He's the very best of  _torins_ ," the youngster said, her usual pluck subdued behind a layer of sincerity. "And he loves you." A smile teased the corners of her mouth, fleeting.

The ghost nodded. She knew. She knew she never needed to fear Garrus, and it wasn't lack of surety in him that kept her standing outside the door. No, never him.

"Goodnight."

The ghost nodded in response to Weaver's farewell and palmed the door. On the other side, the base's darkness and quiet deepened, the air still but for a soft duet of harmonizing snores. She stepped over the threshold far enough for the door to close behind her, then waited for her eyes to adjust to the weak light creeping in around the blinds.

Mussed blankets covered the couch, but she didn't find Radis within. Instead, when she stepped to the side of the bed, she discovered a significant lump growing in the curve of Garrus's spine. Even Radis trusted the Archangel without question. She crouched beside the bed and reached out to caress the  _puer's_  crest, earning a soft purring snore of contentment in return. Standing, she leaned down to kiss the little fellow. She'd rarely seen anything to rival his beauty … their beauty.

One half of the duet fell silent for a half second before, "Your duffel is in the closet off the bathroom."

She looked up, meeting Garrus's gaze. His eyes glinted like ice chips in the near-dark, so much staring at her from within the crystal blue that her heart thundered. Surely he heard it in the otherwise silent night. Her feet tugged her toward the door while her arms longed to wrap around Garrus and cling tight. For a moment, the tug of war froze her in place, but then Garrus folded back the blanket and began to rise.

"I can show you where everything is. The shower can be tricky."

The ghost held out a hand. "No. Stay there. You'll wake Radis." She nodded, her feet deciding that the washroom provided a sufficient retreat, while her arms accepted it as a destination moving her closer to their goal. A shower sounded good. "I'll find everything and be right back." She slipped through the door, leaning back against it once it closed, her lungs heaving. God, she sounded like a post race half-miler as she gasped. "Lights, low."

Once faint light washed the toilet, sink, and shower in Omega's proprietary yellow-brown, the ghost let out a long breath, her muscles melting toward the surprisingly clean tile floor. A quick lurch onto the toilet stopped her from complete collapse, the buckles on her armour ringing against the metal. Damn. Way to send up an alarm within the first five minutes. No wonder she spent so much time feeling like a spaz: three quarters crazy with a solid twenty-five percent clumsy oaf.

"You all right in there?"

She nodded, then grumbled at the ridiculousness of the gesture. Yup, complete spaz. "Fine." Other words, soothing and encouraging words followed, reaching the end of her tongue before she bit them off. She needed to get out of her armour, shower, and then just get on with it. Garrus's warmth had pulled her far enough from death to become a ghost. Surely, enveloping herself in even more of that warmth could complete her transformation from ghost to living being. The lightning for her Frankenstein's monster.

Right, time to get focused on being alive.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, clean and sweet-scented, sweats brushing softly against her battered skin. Even before the door closed behind her, the blankets folded back again, inviting her under their warmth. Holding every other breath, she accepted fighting off a bad case of wooden limbs and numb fingers. She slipped beneath the thick layer of comfort, the depth of Garrus's mattress pulling her down against his body.

She sorted herself so she faced him. His eyes sparkled when she glanced up from beneath shy, heavy eyelids, his stare as intense as the last candle left burning in the depths of a mid-winter storm.

"Did you tell the mattress to do that?" she asked, a soft chuckle following the words through her lips, deflecting the weight of the moment and his stare. She tucked her hand under her cheek, her arm providing the tiniest bulwark against the press of his bare plates and hide.

Garrus hummed, the sound resonating through the space between them as he reached up, brushing a talon along the line of her jaw. "I've got it rigged to do all sorts of things. Hmmm, but that might be my favourite." He leaned in to touch his brow to hers, slowly enough for her to make an escape.

She closed the remaining distance, never having wanted to escape less. "So, this was all some diabolical plan?" Chortling low in her throat, she closed her eyes and relaxed into Garrus's embrace. "And the invasion of the small turian going on behind you?"

He chuckled, the sound as low and comforting as his whisper. "I gave him the option to start in the bed, but he assured me that he'd be fine on the couch." Garrus wrapped his arms around her, tucking her in against his chest. "Next thing I knew, the mattress moved, and he was wrapped up in one of his blankets, curling up behind me."

She grinned as she tucked her face in against his neck, breathing him in. Dear lord, if ever God had created a reason for a 'dear spirits' it was that bed, saturated with that spice and earth scent she didn't know she'd missed so very badly.

Dear spirits.

* * *

 **A-N:**  Dear spirits indeed. It's a chapter! From Kim! OMG! It's been a hard winter, but I feel things turning around, so we can probably expect more chapters of this and maybe even other stories. And MC … can't wait to see what is going on inside Garrus's head. :D


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